


Corruption

by minbins



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (this is Much later on), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Lee Minho | Lee Know, Cop Chan, Criminal Minho, Dominant Lee Minho | Lee Know, Knife Kink, M/M, Mild Knifeplay, Praise Kink, Riding, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Strength Kink, Top Bang Chan, Wall Sex, a lot of smut like a LOT, chan and woojin are partners in the police force, d/s dynamics, dom top chan, emotionally guarded minho, minchan main focus, minho corrupts chan, no woochan romance, powerbottom Minho, sub top chan, there is a woochan smut scene later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minbins/pseuds/minbins
Summary: “I literally turned your life upside down.”“I think that’s what my life was waiting for.”____The Cop!Chan/Criminal!Minho AU that the world needs.





	1. The Suspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Step away, Chan. Stop this. It isn’t right and you know why he’s doing this. Stop it right now._

Chan first heard the beautiful voice of Minho Lee from the speaker of his phone, pressed against his ear by his shoulder as he sorted the mess of paperwork on his desk. He had called him to try and set up a meeting— another one of Lee’s husbands had died, and once more nothing could be proven as to his guilt.

It was no secret in Chan’s department that this man was a killer. He was on his fifth husband, the latest of which had just died mysteriously like all the others had before him. The problem was, he’d never left anything which could implicate him in the crimes. One of the teenaged children of his alleged victims had even gone on public record testifying for his good character, calling him ‘unlucky in love’ and ‘like the brother he’d never had’. 

“You’re not obligated to, of course, Mr Lee. It would, however, be very helpful if you could come down to the precinct and answer a few questions we have about the death of your late husband,” he informed him politely in his most professional manner. 

Chan wondered what could possibly possess a person to marry someone with a track record like that. He seemed good looking enough from the grainy photos in his file, but could someone really be pretty enough to risk certain death for?

He’d never met the man, so he couldn’t say for sure. His voice, however… 

That was one that Chan could imagine someone falling for, at least. Minho Lee would make an excellent singer, in his opinion. There was something about it, about the way the syllables flowed, honey-like, into the next. 

“I don’t like police stations, _Officer_ ,” the voice on the other end of the line spoke up. “I never have, they scare me. One hears awful stories about what happens to gay men behind those walls. I don’t fancy being beaten up…” At this, he paused contemplatively. “At least, not if I haven’t consented to it. A little pain can be fun, can’t it?”

Chan flushed bright red, glad that this was only over the phone and the suspect couldn’t see his deep blush. “Yes, well-” he coughed, mouth suddenly very dry. He heard a light chuckle at his expense. “You needn’t worry about that from me or anyone else at this station.”

“Nonetheless, _Officer_ ,” Chan definitely wasn’t imagining the continued, suggestive sort of emphasis on his title. “I’ll only answer your questions if it’s somewhere public and there isn’t a whole group of you surrounding me. Would you like to meet up for lunch… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

Chan recognised him establishing familiarity, humanising himself, but couldn’t really say anything about it. Rule One was to never let on just how much you suspected someone’s guilt.

“Your name?” Lee prompted once more.

“Officer Bang,” he relented, but this wasn’t enough for Lee.

“Now, now,” he chided in a teasing tone. “That’s no way to start a friendship, now is it? I’m Minho, pleased to make your acquaintance. So; _what’s your name?”_ he asked yet again.

Sighing in defeat, he replied. “Chan. My name is Chan, but it’s really more professional if you stick to Officer B-”

“So, _Chan_. When’s best for you to meet?”

“I can make time, or I can have another officer come down and-”

“No,” he was immediately cut off by the beautiful voice. “I like the sound of you.”

_What the fuck?_

Was Minho Lee, suspect in five murder cases, actually… flirting with him? Chan realised it was to throw him off; he wasn’t stupid. Lee had to have considerable charms to seduce multiple men into marrying him and signing away their assets to him before meeting an untimely demise.

“Are you as attractive as your voice is, _Officer?”_ Lee asked, playful lilt still in his tone. “Or are you all bark and no bite, as they say?”

“I thought you were insisting on using my first name, _Minho_ ,” Chan cut back. 

“Oh, I really _do_ like you,” Lee replied, sounding surprised. “None of the others I’ve dealt with have been nearly this fun. Jumping right in with the groundless accusations and suchlike doesn’t make for good conversation. You believe I’m innocent right, Chan?”

Like _fuck_ did he believe that _Minho Lee_ was innocent of anything at all. He probably didn’t even understand the meaning of the word.

“I’m not really at liberty to say.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can convince you.”

“You’re welcome to give it your best shot— just name the time and place,” Chan offered, not letting Lee fluster him as much as he’d like to. 

Although, perhaps he’d thought so too soon.

“10PM tonight, my bedroom, just us and a bottle of red?” the other man proposed in an entirely serious tone, just as Chan took a sip of his lukewarm cup of coffee. He spat the mouthful out all over a report and swore as he frantically dabbed at it with a handful of tissues. “Oh, don’t take me so seriously,” Lee laughed. “How about Mel’s Diner? It’s near enough to your work that it shouldn’t be too hard a trek.”

“Y-Yes, that sounds fine. What time?” Chan asked, ready to jot down a note.

“I’m free at two tomorrow, does that work for you?”

He’d have to shift a couple of things around, but it was doable. “Can do.”

“Delightful,” Lee replied. “Although, depending on how that meeting goes, perhaps the other offer will still be on the table…”

“I-”

_“See you tomorrow, Chan.”_ He hung up, leaving Chan staring blankly at his phone. 

What the hell had just happened?

“Hey!” Woojin, his partner, greeted him as he walked into the office with a box of files in his hands. “How did phoning Minho Lee work out? You look a little shaken.”

“It was fine,” Chan lied. “I’m meeting up with him tomorrow— he won’t come to the precinct.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Chan?” Woojin asked concernedly. Despite their high risk jobs, he was always a little too protective over his partner. “What if he decides to off you like those five other guys?”

“He’d be foolish to do so in a diner in the city centre,” Chan laughed. “I’m hardly his usual type, either. He’s gone for rich men in their fifties until now, and I’m twenty-seven and still paying off my student loans.”

“Maybe he makes an exception for the pretty ones,” Woojin joked, relaxing at the location of their meetup. 

“Flattering as that is, I think I’ll be fine,” Chan brushed off the comment, knowing his partner was a little more serious than he let on. “Now, let’s go through these files and see if Lee got sloppy with this one.”

Six hours later when they called it a night, the two of them had to conclude that from the evidence they currently had, no, he had not. 

He couldn’t help but be begrudgingly impressed. Usually, someone would have slipped up by now. Minho Lee was clearly a master of his craft. One had to admire that, even if said craft was covering up multiple murders. 

Two o’clock the next day came all too fast, and Chan found himself stood awkwardly outside of ‘Mel’s Diner’ waiting for Minho Lee to show up. Though not as dead-on punctual as Chan had been, only a couple of minutes passed before a red convertible pulled up and parked in front of him. And then, out stepped Minho Lee himself in the flesh. 

Chan had only been promoted in the past year, so hadn’t dealt directly with any of the other cases in Lee’s discography. As such, he had only seen him in evidence such as security camera shots. He’d looked good, but grainy footage didn’t do justice to the vision that he was in person.

His dainty features at once drew the viewer in, but it was the hardness behind his carefully unassuming expression that made Chan’s eyes first linger. Then, he allowed his gaze to wander further, taking him in completely. 

Minho Lee was entirely and unarguably the most beautiful person Chan had ever seen in his twenty-seven years of living. 

His powder-blue fur coat would have looked pretentious, tacky, even, on most. On him, it was _breathtaking_ — indeed, Chan forgot momentarily what it actually was to breathe. _Inhale, exhale,_ he had to genuinely remind himself repeatedly as the suspect, the man he was here to interview for just one crime of his many unconvicted offences, walked confidently towards him.

“I was hoping it would be you,” he told him without preamble, casually linking their arms but keeping Chan’s tightly enough that he couldn’t scramble away. “I looked up your department and it was between you and your partner as to who I’d be meeting. There weren’t any names on the photo, you see.”

“What? Why?” Chan stumbled over his words, offset from the get go. 

“Why, because you were the handsomest in the picture, of course,” Lee informed him as if Chan was a fool for even asking. “A nice view makes these things so much more pleasurable.”

“Oh,” he said, dumbfounded.

“Do I intimidate you, Chan?”

“No, of course not,” he answered far too quickly.

“I think you’re _lying_ ,” Lee singsonged as he led them to a booth. “Is it because I’m pretty, Officer?”

“Absolutely not, Mr. Lee. This meeting is strictly professional,” Chan corrected him.

“All these lies, Chan— are you sure I’m the one who should be being investigated here?” he questioned, taking the seat opposite Chan. 

He let out a quiet sigh of relief; he’d been worried that Lee would slide in beside him and sit uncomfortably close for the duration of their meeting. “Very funny,” he replied drily, waving to a waitress who hurried quickly over. “I’ll have an Americano to start, please, with no milk. Toast on the side, if I may. How about you, Mr. Lee?”

“Do you have oat milk here?” The waitress shook her head. “Soy, then?” Again, she shook her head apologetically. “I suppose I’ll have a black Americano as well, in that case. Just that, I’m not hungry right now.” Saying sorry once more, she walked away. “I thought I asked you to call me Minho, Chan?”

“You did.”

“Well, please do so— Mr Lee makes me sound like an old man and I’d like to think that I retain at least _some_ of my youthful vigour,” he complained, looking up at Chan through his eyelashes and Honest-To-God _pouting_ at him. 

“You really don’t need to worry about that.”

It just slipped out without him meaning to speak, transfixed still by the length of Lee’s eyelashes and the cute curve of his lips despite how much he was trying to remain unaffected. He understood, now, why people kept marrying this man even knowing they might well die. The other man seemed delighted at Chan’s unintentional compliment.

“So you _do_ think I’m pretty!” he replied triumphantly, taking his coffee from the hands of the just-reappeared waitress and wincing after taking a sip. “I’m reconsidering finding _you_ attractive, though, after finding out that you drink this swill. Anyway, question me up, Officer.”

Minho Lee, thorn in the side of Chan’s whole department, rested his chin in his hands and watched him expectantly. This really wasn’t how he’d expected this meeting to go, stammering over his words at the mere batting of eyes. He usually had far more control when it came to beautiful men, but this man put them all to shame.

“Where were you on the evening of August 29th?” Chan asked, looking down at his notes and not at the vision before him.

“At my younger brother’s university dance recital,” he replied without hesitation.

“You don’t have a younger brother.”

“I mean Hwang Hyunjin, my apologies. I was his stepfather, technically, for a time, but he’s like a brother to me now,” Lee corrected himself fluidly. 

“And you didn’t return that night?” 

“No, I crashed at his place afterwards. It was late so I just left a voicemail telling Seungwoon that I’d come back the next day.”

Chan looked down at his notes. All of Lee’s responses fit the evidence without fault, as they always did. His alibis always checked out, his hand in events could never be linked to the deaths and he _always_ got away scot free. 

“When did you find out about Seungwoon’s death?”

“Don’t be so brash, Officer— I loved this man after all, it’s still a fresh wound.” He sounded mocking, but put on an impressive display of looking offended. 

“My apologies,” Chan replied, feigning sincerity. They both knew that Lee didn’t give two fucks about his late husband, about _any_ of his late husbands, at that. He was just good at keeping up appearances.

“I’m sure you could make it up to me…” Lee trailed off. 

Wait.

Was that a _foot_ sliding up Chan’s leg?

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Officer.”

Chan tried to ignore the feeling of the other man rubbing his calf, continuing his questioning.

“So, when did you first hear the news?”

“When our housekeeper-” Minho dabbed at his eyes. Chan resisted the urge to roll his own. “Found poor Seungwoonie in the bath. I can’t believe he…” He sniffed, his crocodile tears rather counteracted by the fact that his foot was _still_ rubbing Chan’s leg. “I can’t believe he’d just end his life like that, you know?”

_Well, that’s because he didn’t— you killed him, somehow, without leaving a trace._

Still engaged in their pretence that they didn’t both know exactly who had been behind Seungwoon’s death, Chan offered him his napkin to wipe away his ‘tears’.

“Thank you, darling,” Lee replied, foot halting at long last. “Just to check, still a no for tonight?”

Tonight? Wh-

Oh, wait. 

_10PM tonight, my bedroom, just us and a bottle of red?_

This time, with no phone between them, Minho could delight in the sight of Chan’s deep blush, and so he did. “What a lovely sight,” he marveled. “I think I’ll try and see this as often as I can.”

Head spinning with what that could possibly mean, Chan finished the rest of his coffee, suddenly unable to stomach his toast. “Well, Mr. Lee-”

_“Minho.”_

“Okay then, Minho. I think that’s us done for today— I may contact you with some follow-up questions if that’s alright?” 

“Usually, I’d say no…” Lee trailed off, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly and making Chan forget, once more, how it was he breathed again. “For you, though, I think I’ll be able to find the time.”

“Much appreciated,” Chan thanked him, still trying desperately to be professional. 

After Lee paid the tab despite Chan trying to tell him that the station could cover the bill, they headed outside, the elder getting back into his convertible and rolling down the window for a parting remark. “You have my address on file, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“Oh, just in case you change your mind,” he elaborated, blowing him a kiss before promptly driving away and leaving a stunned Chan leaning weakly against the wall outside Mel’s Diner. 

Three days followed. 

Three days of sorting through paperwork, scouring the fortnight-old crime scene in the desperate hope that they’d find something, _anything_ that would implicate Minho Lee. They found nothing at all, and Woojin reluctantly suggested to Chan that he should probably meet up with the man again.

“He seems to like you,” he reasoned, not sounding all too pleased about that fact. “He left every other meeting he’s had with law enforcement in under five minutes, but he stayed with you for nearly half an hour. Maybe you can get under his skin and he’ll let something slip that he didn’t with the others?”

Chan had the sinking feeling that Lee was doing a pretty good job at that himself. He kept thinking back to their meeting, to the other man looking at him suggestively, flirting outrageously and touching his leg beneath the table. Whatever he’d been trying to achieve, it had worked; Chan was considerably rattled.

“Do you want me to come with you? I’ve heard he’s a lot to handle.”

_Chan bet he was, indeed._

“Nah, I’m alright, Woojin,” he declined. “I think anyone other than me would run him off.”

“If you’re sure you can cope with him…”

He absolutely wasn’t.

“You know me, I’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words,” Woojin said.

“Oh, _very_ funny.”

He texted Lee, unwilling to put himself through a phone conversation like the last. The other man didn’t particularly want to go back to the diner, saying that the coffee there was worse than torture, so they arranged to meet at a restaurant a couple of blocks from the station for lunch the next week.

Unfortunately, for that week in between their conversation and actually meeting up again, Chan found himself waking up every morning with Lee’s name on his lips and covered in the evidence of a wet dream. As with most, he couldn’t remember them in full, but he was plagued with flashes of pretty lips on various parts of his body and teeth making marks all over. Everything Lee Minho kept offering him, though he seemed to be joking the majority of the time, haunted both his every waking hour and the useless sanctuary he found in sleep. During the day, he’d find himself zoning out, Woojin having to shake him out of it on multiple occasions when he allowed his mind to stray too far into thoughts of taking Lee up on his offer.

Seeing him in real life again was going to be torture, but Chan had managed to resist him thus far. He could stay strong. 

This time, at Woojin’s bequest, Chan was wearing a small recording device that looked just like a button attached to his shirt. It didn’t transmit live audio like some, but they’d be able to plug it in back at their office and download the file. The live transmitters weren’t quite as subtle, and they knew Lee was _good_ and couldn’t risk him seeing something more obvious. 

“Good luck, Channie!” Woojin yelled after him as he left their office. 

“Thank you, Woojin,” he called back, walking into the elevator and pressing for the ground floor. When another man walked in just before the door closed, he wanted to step right back out and take the stairs. It was their Captain, and the man absolutely _loved_ talking to Chan. Just because he’d scored really well in all the entrance exams, Captain Seo was forever displaying blatant favouritism. One time, while drunk at a function, he’d called Chan the ‘son he’d never had’, which was rather unfortunate given that he was Chan’s friend Changbin’s father. 

He wondered how Captain Seo would react if he found out that Chan was _just_ as gay as his estranged son. They’d even made out once in college, but it hadn’t meant anything— Changbin was now happily living with his long-term partner, and Chan went round for dinner every few weeks. 

“How’s the Lee case going, son?” Captain Seo enquired with a conspiratorial wink. 

“Not well I’m afraid, Captain. Lee has agreed to meet with me again, though, so I’m actually on my way to do that now. Hopefully he says something incriminating, as the evidence is not in our favour currently,” Chan replied honestly.

“Not to worry, m’boy!” Captain Seo told him, clapping him on the back heartily. “If anyone can make progress on this, it’s our precinct’s ace!”

“Thank you, sir,” Chan said uncomfortably, smiling as politely as he could. “This is my floor, so I’ll see you later, sir.”

“Good luck!” Captain Seo called after him as the doors closed behind Chan and he walked brusquely away.

What an insufferable man. 

He was running a little late, so he’d have to walk pretty fast to make it to the restaurant in time. As such, practically powerwalking out of the precinct, he almost didn’t notice the convertible out front, startling as he heard a voice call “Chan!” 

Minho Lee was waiting to pick him up.

Without any excuse to do anything otherwise, Chan reluctantly slid into the passenger seat, buckling up and trying not to look at the long expanse of Lee’s legs as he backed out into the road and began to drive. 

“Missed me?” he asked after a couple minutes or so of silence, eyes thankfully on the road so Chan wasn’t subjected to his unnervingly intense gaze. 

“Sure,” Chan affirmed sarcastically. “It’s been a long few days without you.”

“I knew it!” Lee exclaimed, deliberately ignoring the sarcasm. “My heart longed for you too, my love,” he declared dramatically. 

“You’re quite the comedian, Minho Lee.”

“Aren’t I just. Anyway, here we are, darling,” he announced, parking the car and handing off the keys to a valet. It was apparently _that_ kind of restaurant. 

They went inside and a waiter immediately hurried over to them. “Mr Lee!” he greeted him enthusiastically, near falling over himself. “We reserved the table you asked, sir— right this way, if you will.” He led them to a secluded table in the furthest corner of the room. “Any wine to start?”

“Bottle of your best red, please,” Lee replied, and the waiter hurried off to comply. “Isn’t this so much nicer than that horrible diner?”

“In my defense, you picked Mel’s, and it wasn’t that bad.”

“I just searched up places nearby; should have checked the reviews. This place is far more my style.”

“Must be a tough lifestyle to finance,” Chan noted as the waiter poured their wine into glasses. Neither moved to take the first sip. _It’s a lifestyle financed by killing your rich husbands_. “How do you manage that?”

“Oh, I’ve no issues with money,” Lee brushed him off, not elaborating any further. Chan wasn’t really surprised that he’d seen the attempt to slip him up. “That’s a nice shirt you’re wearing,” he complimented Chan, smoothly shifting the topic as he looked him up and down, eyes lingering. 

“Thank you,” Chan replied, a little affected by the compliment despite it being a blatant diversion tactic. “Did you always have money as a child?”

“No, I only really came into it in my early twenties.”

“Was that after the death of your first husband?” 

“Yes, poor Terence was sweet enough to leave me everything in his will, which I inherited after his tragic boating accident,” Lee confirmed, looking Chan dead in the eyes as he did so, challenging him to break eye contact first. He did, he couldn’t help it. There was just something so _intense_ about the younger man. Lee leant forward a little over the table, voice dropping to a whisper. “I need to tell you something, but I don’t want any of the other diners overhearing.”

Chan’s heart leapt. Was he _finally_ going to gain something of value for his case?

“Just say it quietly, nobody will be listening in,” he reasoned.

“I’d rather not risk it…” Lee trailed off, thinking. “Would you accompany me to the bathroom?”

He stood up. Something felt off, but Chan followed him anyway, heart beating faster when Lee locked the door behind them with the words “To make sure we aren’t interrupted.”

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Chan asked, voice belying a little of his nerves. Maybe Woojin was right. Maybe Lee _did_ want to kill him. He didn’t think that was it, but there was definitely _some_ kind of ulterior motive at play.

“You’re a little foolish, Officer. Following your suspect into a private room so readily...” Minho tutted. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”

Chan gulped. “Then why did y-”

When Lee slammed him unexpectedly against the bathroom wall, his first instinct should have been to draw his gun, to call for help, to do _anything_ except what he actually did. 

He moaned.

Even slamming his hand immediately over his own mouth in horror wouldn’t make it go away, couldn’t turn back time and undo the humiliation. 

Lee raised an eyebrow, seemingly pleased at this development, hands still splayed against Chan’s chest. “Like being pushed around, Officer? This _is_ interesting… You intrigue me more and more by the second.” With delicate fingers, he plucked the false button from Chan’s shirt and dropped it to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his expensive shoe. “I know it’s your job, but I don’t appreciate being recorded, Chan.”

“Why, did you let something slip?” Chan asked, still unmoving. He should have pushed him off long ago yet he stayed there, frozen. 

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Lee laughed. “I just appreciate my privacy, is all.”

There was humour dancing in his pretty eyes; he clearly found it funny, lying so blatantly when Chan obviously knew what he’d done. 

“I have cause to bring you in now, you know,” Chan pointed out, pointedly ignoring how Lee’s hands were tracing over his pecs through his shirt. “O-Obstruction of Justice, attacking a Police Officer.”

“Oh, did I attack you, Chan? I was under the impression that you enjoyed it,” Lee teased him, reaching up and running a finger along Chan’s right cheekbone. “You really are so pretty when you blush.”

Everything about the situation was so wildly inappropriate that Chan’s head was spinning around and around like a fairground ride, trying to take it all in. Trying to comprehend why he _still_ hadn’t shoved him away. 

“Besides,” Lee went on, letting his hand trail down from Chan’s face, down past his neck and down the length of his torso, halting just above his belt. “If you report that, you’ll have to report this too. Do you really want to write down into a neat little box just how much you liked it?” 

His hand lowered ever so slightly, index finger hooking into one of Chan’s belt-loops and tugging at it a little. “Liked _what?”_ Chan asked, breath hitching in his throat. He didn’t even have to look down to know that he was getting hard.

_Step away, Chan. Stop this. It isn’t right and you know why he’s doing this. Stop it right now._

“What I’ve wanted to do since laying eyes on you, beautiful boy,” Minho replied simply, making it sound like a throwaway comment, nothing of consequence. His hand shifted once more, resting softly over the growing bulge in Chan’s slacks. If Chan hadn’t been watching his every move, he might not have even noticed it there, so featherlight was the contact.

_This is so wrong_.

“I’ve seen how you look at me,” he added, pushing ever so slightly against Chan. It wasn’t enough, not nearly. He fought not to buck into the touch, hanging on the precipice of relinquishing his morals and jumping headfirst into the unknown. “They all do but, for once, I don’t mind it at all. You’re different from the other policemen I’ve met— there’s something else about you that I can’t quite place.”

Maybe it was that Chan apparently lacked a moral compass, or that it was at least broken beyond repair. He should have arrested him the second he pushed him into the wall, not gotten painfully hard due to Lee barely touching him over his trousers. But there he was, Lee one-handedly unbuckling his belt as he pressed a soft kiss to the underside of Chan’s jaw, mouthing down the column of his throat until he was hindered by the top of his white shirt. He unbuttoned it, not all the way, but enough that he could reach Chan’s collarbones.

Lee unzipped Chan’s fly, but stopped just short of dipping his hand beneath the top of his silk boxers. “Expensive tastes for a public servant,” he noted, seeming pleased at the discovery. He traced around the hair at Chan’s navel where it trailed beneath the fabric. “Now, tell me you want this.”

“I-I, I uh-” Chan stammered, voice cracking a little. 

Lee leant closer, pressed another kiss against his neck. “Tell me you want this or I stop right now.”

Chan clung still, hanging onto the edge— trying not to speak, he bit his lip.

For the first time since he’d pushed him against the wall, Lee’s touch lapsed from its pattern of gentleness, open palm _pushing_ briefly over his hardness through the silk. He couldn’t stop himself, hips chasing the friction as it pulled away as quickly as he’d felt it. The sudden emptiness as the other man stepped back from him felt like dehydration, Chan’s whole body alight with yearning. 

He whimpered.

“I warned you,” Lee reminded him, moving to leave. Chan’s hand shot out of its own volition, clutching at his sleeve.

“Don’t go,” he heard himself say. What the fuck was he doing? He should have been glad to have a chance to escape Lee’s ensnarement. 

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Chan stared, confounded. Lee shrugged, nearly turned away once more, but then stopped at the sound of the other speaking up.

_“Please.”_

“There’s a good boy.”

_Chan let go of the precipice._

“I didn’t know you’d be this easy to break, but by fuck am I glad that you are,” Minho told him delightedly, moving back to his previous position, hand once more toying with the waistband of Chan’s boxers. “I’ve actually wanted to jump you since I heard your voice on the phone— what _is_ that accent?”

“From Australia,” Chan explained. “We m-moved- _ahh,_ we moved when I was seventeen, I- _fuck!”_

Minho had moved his hand lower at long last, delicate fingers finally venturing beneath the fabric. “Well _this_ is nice,” he murmured appreciatively, circling Chan’s shaft with his hand and fingers not quite meeting around it. “Bet you’d feel so good for me, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Chan could only let out an incomprehensible sort of sound in response, overwhelmed by the feeling of Minho’s thumb rubbing teasingly against his slit. 

“Do you like that, Channie?” 

“Y-Yes, it’s so, you’re so, _fuck_ ,” Chan blurted out, head hitting the wall as he jerked back against it. “Please don’t stop Minho pleaseplease _please,”_ he whined desperately, hips bucking once more.

“Stay still and don’t look away from me.” Minho’s free hand pushed at his hip so that he was pressed completely against the wall, then reached to Chan’s jaw, tilting his head back down. “And you need to be quieter than that, sweetheart, pretty as you sound when you beg for me.”

Chan did his best to do as he was told, more turned on than he had ever been in his entire life and every nerve lit up like a livewire. More than anything, he wanted Minho to say _that_ again.

_Good boy._

Chan had always loved to be praised, reacting a little too much to compliments from whoever he was dating, but nobody had really indulged him in it. He’d always been too embarrassed to ask for more, to ask for what Minho had intuitively given to him at once. Though he’d come here to interrogate Minho, it was he who had laid Chan’s secrets bare before him.

He pushed Chan’s slacks and boxers down in one movement, the fabric pooling around his feet and his erection _finally_ free from its constraints. Minho reached one hand up to Chan’s mouth. “Spit,” he commanded, doing so himself after Chan immediately complied and reaching back down, fingers slick against Chan’s aching length. Still at an unbearably slow pace, he moved them up and down a couple of times, maintaining eye contact all the while. 

Minho’s eyes were easy to lose himself in, even darker than usual with his pupils blown black. Chan let himself fall deep into the abyss those eyes provided, still trying valiantly to stay quiet by biting so hard at his lip that he was near to drawing blood. When Minho flicked his wrist in a certain way moments later, however, he couldn’t help himself. His mouth fell open and he moaned loudly enough that it echoed around the tiled walls. 

“I _told_ you to be _quiet,”_ Minho snapped, pulling his hand away. “That wasn’t very quiet, was it, Chan?”

“N-No, I’m sorry,” Chan apologised at once. “I won’t do it again, please don’t stop.”

Briefly, he wondered at how quickly Minho had managed to make him go against all his long-held principles, managed to make him _beg_ for his touch. Logically, Chan should feel ashamed about this, but in that moment all he could focus on was the deep-seated longing that inhabited every part of his being.

“I’m not sure I believe you…” Minho pondered, hand still around Chan but not moving at all. “Maybe you need something to keep you occupied.”

Chan wondered if Minho was going to kiss him to shut him up. He certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea. 

Minho, however, had other plans. He reached up and pushed two fingers past Chan’s lips. “Suck on those, baby, and quiet down before you get us kicked out. _”_

Chan keened at both the pet-name and the feeling of the hand around him starting to move, faster than before. Needily, he hummed around Minho’s fingers as he fought to stay upright, so dizzied that his legs wanted to buckle beneath him. 

“You like my fingers, Channie?” he asked and Chan nodded, swirling his tongue around them and pulling them deeper into his mouth. Unlike the mild discomfort he felt when Woojin called him that, he found he liked the sound of it on Minho’s lips. “That’s good,” Minho told him, other hand moving increasingly faster and bringing Chan closer and closer to the edge. “I like your mouth. Bet it’d feel wonderful around me, taking me in. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Again Chan nodded, this time even more desperate. Minho began to fuck his fingers into Chan’s mouth at the same pace he was jerking him off, the dual sensation making Chan shake with pleasure.

“I think you really would, huh? I think you like having something in your mouth.”

Chan moaned and Minho chuckled at the vibrations around his fingers. 

“You’re perfect, aren’t you darling?” Minho mused, “So good for me, so pretty.”

Combined with another sharp flick of his wrist, the praise was all it took to send Chan over the edge, gagging on Minho’s fingers as he came _hard,_ spilling all over his other hand. His legs crumpled and he grabbed at the fancy towel rack beside him to keep him upright. 

Minho pulled away, walked over to the sink and washed off the mess Chan had made. “Get tested and I’ll blow you next time,” he told him casually, holding his palms under the dryer.

_Next time??_

“I got tested the last time I slept with someone— I’m clean,” he heard himself say as if from far away, still considerably spaced out from one of the best orgasms of his life. There were worse things than oversharing at this point, he supposed.

“Well, why didn’t you say so, darling? This could have been even better,” Minho replied, pout back on his face and very out of place with his words. 

“What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“Well, don’t you need to?...” Chan trailed off, rational mind screaming at him to stop this. He’d already _done enough_.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing, Officer,” Minho cooed, wiping his hands on his trousers from what the dryer missed. “If only we had the time.” He was still clearly hard— Chan had to commend his self control. He, however, had proved that he possessed no such virtue. “You go back to the table, I just need a minute to think about puppies in blenders and suchlike.”

Numbly, Chan did as Minho said. 

Taking a long drink from the still full glass of wine in front of him, it started to sink in what he’d just done. He could lose his job if this was found out- no, he _would_ lose his job. Hell, he’d probably get jail time. 

He’d never been as overly conscientious as someone like Woojin, for example, who had once forgotten to pay for his coffee and then driven five miles back to do so. Still, he was an Officer of the Law and had just let the prime suspect of a murder investigation give him a handjob in a restaurant bathroom. If only the Captain could see him now… Somehow, he doubted he’d still see Chan as the ‘son he’d never had’. 

It was lucky that Minho had needed time to calm down, as it gave Chan time to clear his head and think rationally without the embodiment of the word ‘distracting’ sitting across from him. As much as he’d enjoyed himself, as much as he _wished_ he could take Minho up on his offer of ‘next time’, this could never happen again. Chan had not gone through all those years in the academy just to lose it all over someone like Minho Lee.

Lee.

He needed to start thinking of him as that again. At some point between arriving at the restaurant and coming at _Lee’s_ hands, he’d started subconsciously referring to him by his first name. That needed to stop, if Chan wanted any hope of staying true to his word and resisting Minho.

Resisting Lee.

Given that Chan was so well respected, he doubted anyone would believe he’d let him do _that_ , so it was unlikely that there would be repercussions in the event that Minho decided to say something about what had happened in the bathroom. Woojin would defend his character to the grave, even though he didn’t deserve it, and Captain Seo would sweep away such allegations regardless. As long as it didn’t happen again, Chan would be fine.

It wouldn’t happen again. 

It _couldn’t._

Lee returned from the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at Chan’s now empty wine glass. “Not having regrets, are we, Chan?”

“Regrets about what?” Chan replied, stepping straight into the role of Complete Denial.

“Oh, so you’re going down _that_ road, are you?” Minho laughed. “It’s cute that you think that you’ll be able to keep that up while you’re around me, baby.”

“I’d really prefer you didn’t call me that.”

“You gave me a different impression five minutes ago, but sure thing, _Officer_.”

Chan stayed quiet rather than respond to that. 

After the waiter returned to take their orders, Chan checked his phone to avoid looking at Lee. He had twelve texts, eleven from Woojin checking up on him and one from Changbin inviting him over for dinner that night. He shot a text back to Woojin saying he was fine and replied to Changbin accepting his offer. Changbin and Jisung would be a welcome distraction from the mess his life seemed to be becoming. 

Eventually, however, he had to look up. He regretted doing so immediately, at once met by the sight of Lee sat there simply _studying_ him. 

“What’re you doing?”

Minho smiled. If they were capable of doing so, it was the kind of smile Chan imagined a tiger would give before they leapt on their prey. “Oh, just admiring the view.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your sightseeing short,” Chan apologised without an ounce of sincerity. “I’ve just been called back to the precinct.”

He hadn’t. They both knew that.

“Such a shame, darling,” Minho lamented. “Until we meet again.”

If Chan had his way, that would be never.

“Please apologise to the waiter on my behalf,” he requested. “I’ll be on my way. Thank you for meeting with me today.”

“You too, beautiful,” Minho replied. “Thank you for _everything.”_

Chan stood up and, at as fast a pace that could not be considered a run, walked hurriedly away.

——————————— 

When Changbin opened his apartment door that evening, he immediately sensed that something was wrong. Chan had managed to brush Woojin’s concerns off with empty reassurances, but Changbin saw straight through him.

“You look like you’ve been hit by a bus but, like, emotionally,” he observed tactfully. “Long day at work?”

“I’ll say,” Chan sighed deeply. “I’m just dealing with a lot on my current case.”

“There’s something else about you, though…” Changbin went on thoughtfully. “Jisung, come through, Chan’s here!” he yelled.

Changbin’s partner practically ran into the hallway and barrelled Chan into a hug. “Channie! I’ve missed you!”

“Sungie, can you see something odd about Chan?” Changbin asked Jisung, still looking at their friend as if trying to figure out something about Chan’s appearance. “I can’t quite place it, but…”

“Chan, did you get laid?” Jisung queried bluntly, tilting his head as he took Chan in.

Chan spluttered, going bright red.

“That’s _it!_ Isn’t it, Chan?” Jisung grinned at him. “Nice one, mate.”

“Enough of that,” Chan tried to brush them off, taking off his shoes and then going through to their living room. He should have known better, given that Jisung promptly pinned him to their sofa by sitting on him.

“Tell us, tell us, tell us!” Jisung demanded. “Who when where _how_?”

“Not telling you, not telling you, not telling you aaaaand… _not telling you!”_ Chan replied. 

“At least give us _one_ ,” Changbin reasoned.

“Fine,” Chan relented, knowing there was no other way they’d let him go without him actually fighting his friends. “Where was… _inarestrauntbathroom.”_

_“Chan!”_ Jisung gasped, scandalised. “Who are you and what have you done with my nice boring friend?”

“Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are. He kinda jumped me,” he admitted, taking the opportunity to push Jisung off him while he stared at him in shock. “Anyway! That’s all you’re getting, so drop it.”

“You can’t just-”

“Binnie, we know well and good he ain’t saying shit about what else happened,” Jisung pointed out. 

“You’re not wrong…” Changbin sighed. “That’s such a good story, though! If it were anyone else then they’d be dying to yell it to the hills.”

“This wasn’t anything to be proud of,” Chan said without thinking, groaning as both his friends gasped.

“What does _that_ mean?” Changbin immediately pried. “Was he ugly or something?”

“Binnie! We can’t just judge someone for their looks like that,” Jisung chided, slapping his partner on the arm. Then, he leaned closer to Chan. “So, was he, though?”

“You’re both terrible.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“No, he wasn’t,” he told his friends. “That’s the problem, he’s _too_ pretty.”

“I thought you were into that...” Jisung pointed out, confused. 

“I _am!”_ he groaned. “But it can’t ever happen again.”

Yet, inevitably, _it did_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so uhh i've been writing this for a While and have finally decided to post it,, i've got a lot of it prewritten and/or planned so i've tagged all that's to come. this is going to be Very long and extremely smutty lmao,,,, u should probably subscribe xx
> 
> please please leave a comment if you can, they motivate me more than anything, and kudos are also v much appreciated!! you can also hit me up on twitter @minbiins, where i post lots of wip spoilers and yell abt stuff <33


	2. The Police Benefit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you want?”
> 
> “Oh, there’s many things I want from you.”

For obvious reasons, Chan ignored Lee’s next text. The next, too, and the one after that and so it went on. They all looked innocuous enough, offering to meet so that they could finish discussing the case and other such seemingly harmless propositions. Had Woojin caught him deleting them, he would have been confused beyond belief as to why Chan was looking a gift horse in the mouth. Rarely were suspects so willing to meet with Officers— hell, it was hard enough to even _find_ them most of the time. Chan knew, however, that he had done more harm than good to their case with his last _meeting_ with Lee. The other man could probably get the whole case thrown out if he brought up what had happened in that bathroom.

Groaning, Chan let his head fall to the desk in frustration, jumping when someone tapped him on the top of the head a minute later. It was Captain Seo, so he hastened to straighten up and say sorry simultaneously. True to form, Seo acted as if his favourite Officer could do no wrong and waved away his apology, irritatingly winning smile on his face. “Have you remembered the benefit tonight?” he asked, one hand playing with Chan’s stationary organiser. He wanted to slap his hand away.

Chan hadn’t remembered the benefit in the slightest; it’d only been mentioned to him once a few months before, so had slipped his mind entirely. The mere thought of it made him want to die. He’d been to enough that he knew the drill: his entire evening wasted on being paraded around like a prize stallion at a horse show. Now he’d been promoted, it could only get worse from here on out. Sadly, all of this was the exact reason he couldn’t miss it. Irritating as Seo’s favouritism was, the opposite was an even less attractive option.

“Of course, sir!” he lied. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“That’s m’boy, Chan!” Seo laughed heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. “Off you pop to get changed, I’ll see you in a few hours!”

Seo left Woojin and Chan’s office and Chan looked at the clock on his desk. _7:30PM_. Fucking hell, the bloody thing started at 9:00. Running into Woojin on the way out, he offered a hasty explanation and barely stayed long enough to hear the sympathetic response before he was rushing out of the door to catch a cab back to his apartment. Usually he walked even though he had a car as parking was hell in the city. He had done that morning, but he didn’t have time to now. Even in a taxi, he reached his apartment with barely any time left before he’d have to walk straight back out of his front door.

Petulantly, he texted Woojin complaining about his upcoming evening as he changed into the one suit he owned.

**Chan: ur so fukcing lucky u don’t have to come to this i want to DIE**

**Woojin: I can come with you if you want me to, Chan! It could be fun with both of us there. :-)**

**Chan: haha dw i’ll b aight**

The night was already bad enough without a tipsy Woojin politely hitting on him. Best he attend alone. 

Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the large hall where the pretentious event was held every year. It was basically an evening of pampering to the egos of narcissistic millionaires and getting them tipsy enough to write out a check to the station with plenty of zeros at the end of it. Logically, Chan knew that it was a necessity to keep his department running and his salary paid, but by _God_ did he wish it wasn’t. Parking up, he allowed himself thirty seconds to despairingly rest his head against the steering wheel before starting upon his hellish evening.

Captain Seo strode over to Chan the second he noticed him walk through the door, tugging him over to a woman in a glittering silver dress and an ostentatious feather boa. Swaying on the spot a little, she held a glass of champagne in one hand and began to feel up Chan’s bicep with the other.

“Where _do_ you get them from, Captain?” she giggled, revealing lipstick on her front teeth. Chan didn’t point it out, not feeling kind to the overly friendly stranger. “I love a brawny young man,” the woman added with a wink that was likely meant to be attractive but looked like her face was malfunctioning. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied politely, repressing a shudder.

“This is the lad I was just telling you about, Cleodora!” Captain Seo prompted. “I’m sure he’d be very appreciative if you were to make a donation to our humble station.”

“Yes,” Chan agreed, smiling winningly at the middle-aged woman and making her swoon, clutching onto his arm to steady herself. Somehow, he doubted it was anything other than a ploy to keep touching him. “I’d be _very_ grateful.”

One more bat of his lashes and she’d pulled out the cheque book, handwriting thankfully still legible enough to sign away what was more than Chan’s entirely yearly salary as a donation. “I’m at the New Richmond down the street if you fancy a nightcap once the evening has waned,” she told him in a hushed whisper as he forced himself to hug her in thanks for the cheque. 

“I’ll bear that in mind, madam,” he told her, stomach turning as he hurried to follow Captain Seo to the next socialite. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

An hour at the very least passed in a whirlwind of fake smiles, uncomfortable flirting and one lecherous elderly man who even grabbed Chan’s ass as he walked away. Then, mid-way through Chan wheedling a donation out of a woman who kept licking her lips as she spoke to him, the whole room fell silent. The woman looked away from Chan, and her mouth formed an _O_ as she gasped at the sight of something. Or, as Chan discovered as he turned round to see, of _someone._

That looked like… No, it _was._ Of course. Of fucking _course_.

Of course it was Minho Lee. Because, why wouldn’t it be? Clearly it just wasn’t Chan’s night.

It was understandable that Lee had made the whole room fall into a stunned sort of hush, given that he looked as he did. Where to even look first was the question. He was wearing a green velvet suit in a women’s-style cut with a deep V and no shirt underneath it, tanned skin contrasting against a diamond choker and matching earrings. Lee was _resplendent._ Everyone in that room knew it, and by fuck did he know it himself. Pretty doe eyes, highlighted with shadowy makeup, flitted around the room as Lee looked for something specific. His search didn’t stop until his eyes landed on Chan, at which point he smiled at him before walking off to join the throng of donors for a while. 

Chan’s heart felt liable to beat out of his chest as Seo tugged him over to the next socialite to charm. Three sizeable cheques later and he sensed movement in the corner of his eye— as soon as he realised it was Lee waving him over, he turned his back and resolved to ignore him. Unfortunately for Chan, Captain Seo had no such plans. 

“Go talk with Lee, m’boy!” he instructed Chan. Leaning closer, he whispered in his ear. “Maybe alcohol will loosen those lips of his.”

Lee, as Chan could tell as soon as he reluctantly walked over to him, was completely sober. Though a delicate flute of Champagne was held in one of his equally delicate hands, he hadn’t taken a single sip, though he pretended to a couple of times while Chan was crossing the room. He knew that the man was far too smart to get drunk at a police function, but couldn’t ignore a direct order from his Captain. Lee looked him up and down appreciatively, much like he’d been subjected to the whole evening, but unfortunately affecting him in a wildly different way. After the incident at the restaurant, Chan’s dreams about him had only got worse. Being so close to him felt like torture, especially when he was looking at him like he was something to eat.

_Not that he’d ever looked at him in any other way._

“Why hello, darling,” Lee greeted him dramatically. “Long time no see— have you changed your number, or are you just ignoring me?” he asked, evidently knowing the answer. After a moment of Chan neglecting to reply while trying not to let his eyes linger on the exposed V of the other man’s neckline, Lee pouted. “Oh, you do wound me.”

“So sorry,” Chan replied without an ounce of sincerity. “I must have missed your texts. Anyway,” he changed the topic. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can’t a man with plenty of money to spare come join his fellow socialites in supporting such a… _worthy_ cause? Where would we be without the hard work of our best and bravest?” Minho said, that smile still there. “And maybe I wanted to see my favourite Officer. He’s been ghosting me, after all.”

“Where is he? I’ll be happy to leave you to it.”

“There’s no need to be deliberately obtuse, my dear.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Chan lied, their eyes locked in a degree of quiet intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. It was likely that if a riot started three paces away Chan wouldn’t notice. He knew he couldn’t have him —he’d lose _everything_ he’d ever worked towards— but he’d never wanted anyone more desperately than he did Minho Lee. The fact that this hesitance and his regrets about what they had already done was based not on morals, but on the consequences, said a lot about Chan. He shook himself out of it. “Have you made a donation yet tonight?”

“I have indeed— can’t have it looking like I don’t support the police force, now can I?” Lee replied, pretending to take a sip of his champagne once more. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips, and Chan couldn’t take his eyes away from the motion. He was so fucking gorgeous.

A waiter passed by and Lee swiped another glass from his tray.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, this isn’t for you, darling,” Lee replied, a look on his face that filled Chan with dread. Whatever he was about to do, it definitely wasn’t anything good. His intuition proved correct when Lee emptied both glasses surreptitiously into a nearby potted plant and made his way towards Captain Seo, a deliberate stumble in his step and an empty champagne flute in each hand. _Fucking Hell._ Chan resignedly followed him over. “C-Captain,” Lee greeted Chan’s superior, faking a hiccup. “Don’t suppose you,” he hiccuped again, “Would be able to let me borrow someone to t-take me home? I’ve had a little too much to drink, you see.”

If Chan didn’t know it was absolute bullshit, he himself would have fallen for it. Lee was _good_. “I can call you a cab?” he offered, not liking where this was going in the slightest. “You took one here, I assume?”

“I did,” he replied slowly, spacing his words out and stumbling, clutching at Chan’s arm like that nasty woman had earlier. “Thing is, I get a little loose-lipped when I’m drunk— don’t want to be telling a cab driver all my secrets again. It’s happened far too many times, you see.”

As Lee had clearly known they would, Captain Seo’s eyes lit up. _Hook, line and sinker._ “I’m sure Chan wouldn’t mind driving you home, would you, Chan?”

“I’m sure he’d be fine with a-”

“Chan will drive you home, Mr Lee,” Seo cut him off, making shooing motions toward the ornate door at the front of the room. With the look he gave Chan, he knew he didn’t have any other option. He walked Lee to the door, the younger linking their arms to ‘steady himself’, which was absolute bullshit, of course. His weight at Chan’s side felt like it was burning, so aware was he of his touch. 

To his credit, Chan kept up appearances very well in front of his boss and even once they’d left, knowing there would be benefactors and police officers still arriving who could see him. He even helped Lee up into the passenger’s seat of his car, given that he was still keeping up his little stumbling act. The second Chan’s car doors were closed and he was sheltered by the heavily tinted windows, however, Lee dropped the perfected look of drunkenness, eyes brightening and lips quirking up at the side. “Thank you, _Officer._ It’s so kind of you to go out of your way to drive little old me home.”

“My pleasure,” Chan replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “What do you want?”

“Oh, there’s many things I want from you,” he replied nonchalantly, studying his nails. He was wearing black varnish with some sort of glitter effect on it— they looked like they’d been dipped in the night sky. “Too many to list, in fact.” Chan shivered despite himself, though Lee wasn’t even looking at him. “But for tonight... Isn’t it enough that I just want a ride?”

At that, he looked up, meeting Chan’s questioning gaze. Something in his eyes told Chan that he didn’t mean the car, but he wasn’t going to be the one to open up _that_ discussion. Flashes of his dreams flitted before his eyes, and his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he tried to dispel them. “Of course,” Chan said shortly. “Just tell me where to go.”

“You have my address on file though, right?” Lee asked, tilting his head to look at Chan. 

“Yes, although I don’t make a habit of carrying said file around with me, so you’ll have to direct, I’m afraid.”

“If you have my address, why haven’t you visited?”

“W-Why would I want to?” Chan asked, trying to sound unaffected and failing abysmally. Not only did he stutter, his voice also came out sort of weak. Breathy, even.

“You’re quite talented in the art of being selectively stupid, aren’t you, darling?... Take the first right,” Lee instructed, leaning back in his seat with a contented little sigh. It was as if he was celebrating a victory not yet won.

Twenty minutes later, they came to a stop outside of a tall, expensive-looking apartment building. Chan had kept quiet until then, not trusting his own voice, but he now spoke up. “That’s you, then. Goodnight, Mr. Lee.”

“Surely you can call me Minho at this point, sweetheart,” Lee pouted. He couldn't. He couldn’t call him that because it was just the tip of the iceberg, the destruction of life as Chan knew it just below the surface. “Won’t you come up? I want to chat.”

It was the exact feeling he’d had before, the same sense of _this is a terrible idea_ that he’d had when he followed Lee to that bathroom. Logic screaming at him, Chan nonetheless did the foolish thing and agreed. This said something about him, something that he wasn’t willing to admit to himself just yet. 

Lee lived on the top floor, not that that came as much of a surprise.

“There’s a beautiful view of the city,” Lee commented, near the end of the long elevator ride to his penthouse. “As beautiful as New York can be, that is.”

“You don’t like it here?”

“I get bored very easily,” was all he offered as an explanation. The elevator dinged. “We’re here.”

Minho Lee lived lavishly, there was no denying that, yet it was done so in a tasteful sort of way. Sure, Chan could tell that everything in his lounge was individually worth at least a couple months wages apiece, but it wasn’t garish in its splendour. When Lee gestured to the fancy leather couch, Chan gingerly took a seat. 

“Wine?” Lee called through— he’d gone off to the kitchen. When Chan didn’t answer immediately, he poked his head around the door, holding a thousand dollar bottle of Sauvignon Blanc loosely in his hand like it was as expendable as $4.50 cheap swill. “Want some?”

“I’m driving,” Chan reasoned. 

“One won’t put you over the limit as you and I both know, Mr Police Officer,” Lee laughed. “Plus, you don’t have to leave.” He paused, holding eye contact until Chan was forced to break it first. “Just joking, of course.”

He wasn’t.

Chan already felt intoxicated, simply on the atmosphere. Alarm bells should be going off in his mind at the other man’s words, at his own actions, but he gave in and agreed to a small glass. Lee brought it through, setting it on the clear glass coffee table. “You get started with that— I’m going to go through to my room and get changed out of this suit. Unless you want me to do it here?”

He choked on his first sip of the wine, mouth falling open even though he really shouldn’t be surprised by such blatancy at this point. 

“You’re no fun,” Lee sighed, flouncing off to his room even though Chan hadn’t even technically said no. If he’d started doing it, Chan wasn’t sure he would have the power to stop him, nor did he imagine that he would particularly want to. _He should leave. Immediately._ His thoughts were wandering past wistful musings and into the realm where bad, real life, decisions were made. At least Lee was getting changed— that suit wasn’t helping Chan’s wandering mind. 

Chan was soon proven wrong, however, because once the other man returned it was much, _much_ worse. From the looks of it, he was only wearing a baggy t-shirt that reached halfway down his thighs. And, good God, his _thighs_. Everything about Lee was perfect, but them? They were _sublime._

“Do you usually just walk around in a t-shirt, or is this a special occasion?” Chan asked, staring and not even bothering to hide it.

“I’m not!” Lee protested, mocking offence. “I’m wearing shorts, see?”

Chan’s mouth went dry. The younger man had just lifted up the bottom of the shirt, revealing indecently short pyjama shorts, the sort that girls always wore in over-sexualised sleepover scenes in cheap movies. He flashed a sliver of stomach. 

“Do you like them?” Lee asked, clearly aware of Chan’s reaction. He was still too dumbfounded to reply. “No? Maybe you need a closer look…” he mused, before walking over to Chan and straddling his lap. If Chan had doubted his ability to leave before, his fate was now beyond certain. “How about now?” _Minho_ asked once more, delicate hand lifting up the shirt for his perusal. 

Chan reached out and grasped at the soft expanse of Minho’s waist, smooth beneath his rough hands. “Beautiful,” he revered, Minho’s skin contrasting with his pale hands. “How are you so fucking beautiful?”

By now, Chan could admit to himself, albeit shamefully, that he’d been expecting this. He’d known Minho would jump him— he even had a precedent for doing so, yet he’d gotten into that elevator nonetheless. His life had been so _boring_ until now, so routine day-by-day even with such a textbook ‘interesting’ profession. Was it so wrong that he’d leapt at the first chance of breaking free from monotony, especially when said chance looked and acted like Minho Lee?

Undoubtedly, it was. 

In that moment, however, Chan did not care. He gave in, leaning in and meeting Minho’s lips as he paused just in front of him. Just like he’d made Chan ask for it the last time, by letting him close the gap he made sure that Chan wanted him. He gladly did so. He’d regretted not kissing Minho last time, mourned it while he tried to convince himself that it had been the only time he’d lapse in morals.

Minho tasted faintly of mint, with a hint of his strawberry chapstick. It was a flavour Chan could revel in for hours, drunk on everything about him. His tongue flicked against Chan’s lips, and he gladly granted him entry, putting up only a weak fight against the way Minho strived to take control of the kiss. 

“Comfortable though this sofa may be,” Minho murmured against Chan’s mouth, biting at his lower lip before continuing, “There are certain necessities that require a change in location.” He stood up, pulling Chan by the hand as he rose from his lap. His room was just down a corridor decked out in modernist artwork which Chan paid little attention to given that he was being guided into Minho’s room and pushed towards the bed.

Minho backed him up until the back of his legs met the bed frame, knees buckling as he fell backwards onto it. “I like this view,” Minho noted, unabashedly raking his eyes up and down Chan’s body. “Too many clothes, though,” he added after a moment of observing, reaching down and pulling Chan’s tie free, tossing it to the side. “Jacket off.” Chan could only obey, pulling off his suit jacket at an inhuman sort of speed. “Someone’s eager…” Minho tutted, rifling through the top drawer in his bedside table. 

“Minho, have you _seen_ yourself lately?”

“When you put it that way… understandable,” Minho admitted with a light laugh. “Now, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” he said, chucking a bottle of lube at the bed. It bounced slightly before coming to rest on the pillow beside Chan. 

“What do you- uh, I mean- how do you, uh,” Chan tried to say, still sprawled on Minho’s bed in too-tight trousers and his dress shirt.

“How do I what, sweetheart?” Minho pressed, obviously understanding exactly what Chan was asking. “Go on, ask.”

“How do you want to do this?” Chan managed to get out after a second of stammering.

“If you think I’ll be topping tonight, then you’re gravely mistaken,” he replied. “Another time, perhaps, but I already prepped before that godawful fundraiser. Plus, I’ve been thinking about getting you inside me for weeks now— I’m not waiting any longer.”

“W-Well then,” Chan said somewhat nervously. “What do you want me to do?”

Sensing Chan’s need to be instructed in that moment, Minho seemed all too happy to indulge him. “You can start by getting the rest of your clothes off, baby.”

Chan went for his trousers first, need to be free from the constricting garment winning out over his embarrassment at doing so. When his top shirt button wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he tried to unbutton it, he got frustrated and simply ripped it open. Minho’s interest was clearly piqued at this point, raising an eyebrow at Chan’s actions. “What?” Chan asked, abashed as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. All he had left on were his boxers, which were doing absolutely nothing in the slightest to hide his arousal.

“You’re strong,” he pointed out. “Duly noted for future reference.” He paused, looking Chan over once more and seeming very pleased with himself. “Off,” he commanded, gesturing at Chan’s boxers. Chan blushed, and Minho rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I haven’t already seen it. I’m still here, aren’t I? You know I’m attracted to you.”

Chan supposed that was true. Nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man as he pulled his boxers off, adding them to the pile of his clothes on Minho’s bedroom floor. A finger hooked under his chin, tilting his head up to meet Minho’s heated gaze. He’d leant down, his face mere centimetres away from him. “Hi,” Chan said, unable to think straight as he took in every detail of Minho’s eyes. 

Minho smiled. “Hi,” he replied, closing their distance and kissing him. “Remember what I promised you last time?”

_He said he’d suck Chan off_.

Chan gulped audibly. “I do.”

“Would you like me to, Channie?” Minho asked, already dropping to his knees and yet still in control. “Just say the word.”

“Please,” Chan said, and then he could no longer speak. If he’d thought that Minho’s _hand_ had felt good… 

This was off the charts. 

Grasping the base of Chan’s cock, Minho licked at the tip as though tentative about going any further. Though both knew that couldn’t be farther from the truth, the sight of Minho batting his big eyes up at Chan in faux innocence still had the desired effect. Chan’s hips jolted, and Minho pushed him back down against the bed distractedly, all his focus still on Chan’s dick. For a good minute or so, he simply mouthed at it, lathering small licks over his slit and around the head but moving no further, clearly delighting in how loudly Chan was already moaning. He pecked a kiss to the tip and grinned up at Chan. 

“You already look so wrecked, pretty boy,” he observed smugly. “Funny how I’m the one sucking you off but it’s you who’s gagging for it.”

Chan’s dick jerked in Minho’s hand, tapping against his own stomach and smearing precome onto the lines of his abs. Minho laughed at this, leaning down and running his tongue over the taut muscles to clean it off and then moving back to Chan’s cock, this time moving down a little further but still nowhere near as far as Chan was sure he was capable of. He bobbed up and down, each time stopping around halfway. While Chan knew he himself was ‘well-endowed’, so to speak, Minho wasn’t even breaking a sweat. This was all to drag it out and tease him, and Chan enjoyed that more than he would have initially expected to. Still, he wanted more. “M-Minho,” Chan stammered over his name as he sucked particularly hard before pulling off to blink up at him.

“Yes?” Minho asked expectantly, hand still moving at the base of Chan’s length and making it harder for him to think by the second. “What is it— do you want me to do something else, Channie? Don’t you like my mouth?”

“I do, _believe_ me I do,” Chan hastened to reassure even though he was fully aware Minho knew that. “I just want more, Minho, please?”

“All you had to do was ask, baby,” Minho said with a giggle which hardly fit the situation. “I’m happy to give you all you need.”

Chan gripped at the sheets beneath his palms, bunching them up in his fists as Minho wrapped his lips, once more, around the head of his cock, breathing in through his nose. In one practised, fluid motion, Minho sank all the way down, taking him in in his entirety. Completely engulfed by the warm heat of Minho’s mouth, with the younger’s delicate hand playing with his testes, Chan threw his head back as Minho bobbed up and down. Each time, he pulled nearly all the way off before moving back to deepthroating him, and it was almost too much for Chan to take. In fact, he suddenly realised with a start that he was already on the brink of release within minutes. “Minho stop, need to stop or I’ll come, _Minho!”_ he gasped out, each word taking longer than usual as they were punctuated by moans. 

Sighing, which felt quite strange on Chan’s end, Minho pulled himself off Chan’s dick. “You’ve clearly not been given good enough head in the past if that was enough to get you that close,” he said, looking somewhat sorry for Chan. “What kinda idiots have you been sleeping with?”

Well, at least he wasn’t blaming it on Chan himself. He shrugged. “I didn’t really realise at the time.”

“Something tells me I’ll ruin you for all other men,” Minho joked. At least, Chan _thought_ he was joking. To be honest, he may do just that if his oral skills were anything to go by. “Still want to fuck me?”

Chan didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more. He nodded, then stammered out a verbal affirmation, finding it difficult to speak given that Minho had started stripping the second he nodded. It wasn’t like he had been wearing much to begin with, but the sight of him in those shorts and _only_ those shorts was- well… He didn’t think it could get any better, but he was wrong; the shorts soon joined the t-shirt on the floor and Chan was blessed by the sight of an entirely nude Minho Lee. Few people possessed such brazen confidence as to stand bare before someone for the first time and clearly have nothing to hide, not one part of their body they weren’t satisfied with. Minho was one of those people, and rightly so— he was a complete visual masterpiece, a work of art upon which Chan felt unworthy to gaze.

“Your turn to put some work in, darling,” Minho singsonged, plopping down on the bed next to Chan and laying down, propped up against his pillows and watching him. He picked up the lube, handing it over to a still dumbfounded Chan and raising an expectant eyebrow. “I like your hands, so you’re going to finger me nice and good,” he instructed, sending a jolt of arousal shooting through Chan’s body, pooling like lava in his stomach. “Then you can fuck me, okay, baby?”

Chan nodded, still not quite able to shake off the feeling that he was way out of his depth with this man. Minho spread his legs, and Chan didn’t know where to look first. The other man’s cock was _beautiful_ , flushed and curving upwards to rest against his flat stomach. Then, he looked down. Somehow, Chan felt both himself salivating and his mouth going dry at the sight of Minho’s hole, shaved and pretty and a little puffy from where he’d said he’d already prepped before the gala. In a daze, Chan squirted some lube onto his fingers, rubbing it between them to warm it up and then reaching forward with one hand reverently. In awe, he traced his pointer finger around the slight swell of Minho’s rim, then pushed forward with little opposition, digit sliding smoothly in to the knuckle. “Good?” he checked, watching for Minho’s response.

Minho sighed contentedly. “ _God, yes_. Add another.”

Chan did as he was told, moving his middle finger into Minho as well and watching in rapture as his hole swallowed them up. When instructed, he added a third, speeding up as Minho snapped at him to stop dragging it out. He was used to being the one calling the shots sexually, but Chan oddly liked the dynamic he’d found here. It felt nice to let go, sometimes. He wouldn’t _mind_ dominating Minho, not at all, but he got the feeling that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. The younger was pushing back on him, riding his fingers and moaning at the feeling, yet Chan knew he had no hold over the situation.

“Mm, bored now,” Minho said, albeit with a tremble in his voice, after a few more thrusts of Chan’s hand, pushing at his wrist so he’d retract his fingers. He did so, wiping them on the sheets, then barely had a second to register Minho moving before he found himself beneath him. Minho had rolled onto his lap and flipped them over— Chan’s head now rested on the pillows where Minho’s had just been. “My speed, remember, baby,” he reminded Chan. “Stay nice and still for me until I say you’re allowed to move.”

That was easier said than done with _Minho Lee_ grinding his perfectly shaped ass down against Chan’s dick teasingly, but he resolved to do his best. For some reason, he desperately wanted to be good for him. Wide eyed and already breathless, Chan was so turned on he wanted to cry, especially at the sight before him. After rolling a condom onto him and squirting lube onto one hand, Minho slicked up Chan’s length and guided it to press gently at his rim, not quite breaching but _there_ enough that he could imagine how it would feel. Minho rested against him for a moment, hands braced on Chan’s broad shoulders and smirking at the look of desperate want that must be on his face. On top of him, Minho shifted his hips ever-so-slightly, letting Chan push in a little, then pulled back up, kissing the whine from his mouth with eager lips, nipping at him before pulling back. 

_“Please,”_ Chan begged once more, having long lost count of how many times he’d done so. “I’ll do anything you want, Minho, _please!”_

“I’ll hold you to that,” Minho replied with a smile that really should have terrified Chan, but instead just made him even more desperate. “Okay, baby— I’ll give you what you want.”

Tortuously slowly, though Chan couldn’t really expect anything else at this point, Minho eased down. The little gasps he let out were enough to write whole anthologies of poetry about, the sight of him biting his lip the prettiest work of art Chan had ever seen. He was ruining him for all other men, indeed. When, finally, Minho sat pressed flush against Chan’s hips, he felt like he’d ascended to a higher plane of being. Why, when he could have had this, had he ever tried to resist him?

He could definitely see it now, why so many men had been ready to die for Minho Lee. 

To be quite honest, he was close to counting himself among their willing numbers. Pleasure like this was surely worth it. 

Minho wriggled on his lap, adjusting himself with a soft moan and letting his eyes fall closed as he got used to Chan inside him. “So full,” he sighed, and Chan could tell from the pleasured expression on his face that he wasn’t just saying it to feed Chan’s ego. “I could sit like this forever.”

As nice as the thought of cock-warming undoubtedly was, Chan really hoped he wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure how much more of being still for Minho he could bear. Luckily, doing so didn’t seem to be on Minho’s agenda. Once more splaying his hands on Chan’s shoulders, Minho lifted up a little and dropped back down, making them both moan as one. Minho’s head fell to rest against Chan as he did it again and again until they were kissing again, though more panting into each other’s mouths, and Minho told him he was allowed to move. “Lift me up, pretty— I know you can do it,” he demanded, keening as Chan obeyed, moving his hands to Minho’s hips and beginning to aid his movement. “Such a good boy for me, Ch- _ah_ -nnie, so good,” Minho moaned, the praise making Chan’s hips buck up to meet him. “Love how strong you are for me, bet you like it too, dropping me on your cock like this.”

Chan _did—_ he loved it, in fact, but he could only really reply with an incoherent sort of moan. Minho laughed at this, at how unbelievably wrecked he had managed to make the Officer who’d tried and failed to resist his allure. He clenched a little around him, not enough to cause pain but enough to make Chan choke on another moan. Still, he carried on lifting and dropping Minho in the hottest arm workout he’d ever experienced, each slide and drag of his cock inside the other man making him gasp out a strangled cry of Minho’s name. He hadn’t even used that name at all when first they met, trying to futilely force professionalism. _That_ had been doomed from the very start, from the second he saw Minho Lee in the flesh. He was like every wet dream Chan had ever had, combined and given a human form.

And now… Well, now Chan _had_ him, guiding Minho’s lithe frame down onto his cock over and over. The prettiest man in the entire world. It hardly seemed real, yet no imagined fantasy could compare to what he was feeling. Despite an abundance of sin, this was the closest Chan had ever been to heaven, fucking up into Minho like this. “Come on, Channie...” he told him with a smirk pulling at his pretty lips, pausing before he dealt the killing blow. _“Fuck me like my good boy.”_

That was it, the breaking point that obliterated all of Chan’s remaining inhibitions. His hips snapped up faster and faster, his splayed hands not so much dropping Minho as pushing him down to meet him. The sound of both of their moans mixed in the air, Chan’s voice getting lower in tone while Minho’s had risen in pitch, harmonising together in a twisted sort of melody. “Fuck, Minho, fuck, _fuck!”_ Chan groaned, feeling himself hurtling towards the edge uncontrollably. He got the feeling that Minho would have, if he could, teased him for not being capable of uttering much besides swear words. Doing so, however, required Minho himself being able to speak in that moment.

As it was, Minho was whining and grinding down against Chan, bucking into his own small hand increasingly erratically. Then, with a moan that Chan would remember for the rest of his time on Earth, Minho spilled into his fist, release spurting up and spattering his flat stomach with white. The mere sight of him doing so would probably have been enough but, added to the feeling of Minho’s hole convulsing around his dick, Chan hadn’t a chance of preventing his own orgasm. Groaning, he came harder than he had since, well, the last time Minho had made it happen. 

Both of them panting, Minho leant and kissed Chan again slowly, leisurely until both had calmed enough to pull apart. Once separated, Minho sighed heavily and pointed to the bedside table. “There’s wipes in there— I don’t want to move, so clean me up and then you can go shower.”

Once he’d tied and binned the condom, Chan did so gently, wiping every trace of the now-drying come from Minho’s beautiful, exhausted body. The younger man’s eyes were starting to flutter shut and he looked like an angel spread out on his bed sheets. “Where’s the shower?” Chan asked before Minho could be completely claimed by sleep.

“Next door down,” Minho replied, not opening his eyes. “You can go after or take the couch, I don’t mind.”

Not wanting to grapple with his own denial so late at night, exhausted from what he’d just done, Chan chose to sleep on the couch once he’d washed away the evidence of his sin. Clean though he may be physically, the memories, however, still lingered. He pushed them away, but couldn’t shake the feeling: that of free-falling into the unknown, with no way to slow his descent. 

Despite expecting to rest fitfully that night, he fell into the deepest sleep he’d had in years. Arguably, this pointed to how Chan’s morals had already been irrevocably compromised, but he could bounce back from this, right?

_Right?_

Though loathe to admit it, Chan was not so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! if you liked this, please leave a comment telling me what you thought!! <33 kudos r also much appreciated <3 also, as always i am on twt and cc!! twitter @minbiins and curiouscat.me/minbinnie
> 
> minchan gay
> 
> v out!


	3. Aching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a time that dragged into something like forever, Chan was the centre of Minho Lee’s universe.

Chan made sure that he was gone before Minho woke up the next morning. It was probably bad that he didn’t know for sure whether this was out of guilt or out of fear that Minho would kick him out. He drove back home as quickly as he could without breaking any speed limits and took another shower in his own bathroom, temperature scalding against his pale skin, searing his scalp as he let the water wash over him. It didn’t wash anything away, as much as he may have hoped for it to. Still, he noticed a distinct lack of guilt for what he’d done. Worryingly so; if it hadn’t been washed away, and it wasn’t there now, then had it _ever_ been?

He chose to ignore it, rather than dwell on his seemingly imminent spiral. Instead, he got dressed and drove himself to work as if nothing had happened. Woojin was already there, of course, and lit up at the sight of Chan as always. “Hey,” Chan greeted him casually, normally. He could play this off.

“Did you sleep well?” Woojin asked.

Flashes passed past Chan’s eyes, a kaleidoscope of soft lips, of bruising kisses and an expanse of pretty skin. He blinked the thoughts away, shaking his head to clear the rushing in his ears. “Same old,” he lied, “had to drop Lee off because the Captain made me, but then I just went back home.”

The traffic cameras wouldn’t hold up to his story, and Chan realised this full well. Woojin, however, had no reason to look into it. To Woojin, Chan could do no wrong. He probably, were he a good person, shouldn’t exploit that. He did, however. More and more by the day.

“Didn’t get anything out of him?” his partner checked, looking disappointed. “Seo told me he was blackout drunk.”

“Yeah,” Chan said, shrugging, “it’s a shame, but what can you do? I reckon I’ll get somewhere if I go along with him wanting to meet up with me, though.”

Woojin looked apprehensive, but nodded. “You have to be careful with that guy, Channie…” he told him, and Chan’s skin crawled at the unwelcome nickname. “Who knows what tricks he’s got up his sleeve.”

_Chan._ Chan knew. Some of them, at least. He shivered at the thought. Woojin smiled sympathetically, assuming Chan was also worried for his own well-being rather than remembering being blown by a suspected criminal. To be honest, Chan really _should_ be worried. Lee had given no indication that he wouldn’t happily snuff Chan out the second he stopped being useful. Instead, however, Chan’s mind had wandered to when he’d next meet up with him, to _what would happen when he did._

He had the feeling that Minho had many things planned now that he’d given up on resisting him. Whether Chan would survive once Minho was done toying with him was another matter entirely. Again, Chan should be worried. Again, he just kept thinking about the arch of Minho’s neck as he fucked him.

“You alright, Channie?” Woojin asked. Chan wished he would stop. “You look like there’s something on your mind.”

“It’s nothing, Woojin,” he brushed him off, grabbing the paperwork on his desk and starting to sift through it at random, needing to at least pretend to do something. Anything to make Woojin stop questioning him. “I’m just tired.”

And for good reason.

Chan suffered through the next few hours on far too much caffeine until he had to have a meeting with just him, Woojin and Captain Seo wherein they explained all the relevant information they had managed to gather on Minho Lee. Namely: nothing whatsoever. Sure, Chan was still pretty much certain that he was guilty, but there was nothing to show it. Chan got the feeling that, unless Minho wanted them to, the police would have a hard time finding anything on him at all.

When he got a text from ‘Minho Lee’ on his work phone reading ‘Hi! This is Minho Lee, I’m next free to meet this evening’, his personal-use phone buzzed in his pocket, too. Somehow, Minho had managed to save himself in there as, much to Chan’s begrudging amusement, ‘Big Sexy’.

_Big Sexy: new restaurant today got us a private room w/ no cameras xx_

He texted back Minho Lee, rather than ‘Big Sexy’, and thanked him for his cooperation, telling him that he was free that evening, too. After a professional sounding response on his work phone, the other buzzed too.

_Big Sexy: aww, is channie too scared to text me at work :((_

_Big Sexy: cute_

_Big Sexy: [image attached]_

Chan took one glance and immediately locked his phone. Not a moment too soon, in fact, as Captain Seo had just turned up to bother him at his desk. Chan couldn’t say for sure, but he didn’t think that his boss seeing a picture of their lead suspect fingering themself on Chan’s phone would do wonders for his career. 

“Good work getting him to meet up with you again, m’boy!” Seo enthused, leaning over Chan’s desk to clap him on the shoulder. “Shame you didn’t get anything from him after the old gala, eh?” he sighed, and Chan nodded, feigning equal disappointment. Seo leant forward conspiratorially, gesturing for Chan to draw closer. “See if you can get him silly on wine at whatever place you meet him— it’s worth the tax-payer money, if you ask me, getting that devil to loosen his lips.”

“Yes, sir,” Chan replied dutifully. “I’ll do my best.”

Lee would sooner kill Chan than show weakness, but Chan didn’t have to tell his Captain that. Seo smiled at him and left him to continue trawling through useless evidence until evening came, and he had the excuse of meeting up with Lee. Woojin offered to accompany him but he, of course, turned him politely down, driving alone to the agreed destination. Minho was already outside when he arrived, leant against the wall and tapping at something on his phone. He looked like a model mid-shoot, despite only being dressed casually in an oversized pink knitted sweater and tight black jeans. With a jolt of recognition that pooled heat in his stomach, Chan realised that it was the same sweater Minho had been wearing in the _picture_ he had sent to Chan’s phone. It hadn’t just been a saved photo— Minho had really been doing that while texting him. 

Somehow, likely due to the flush on Chan’s face as he walked over after parking his car, Minho realised exactly what Chan was thinking about. Though giving him a knowing smirk, he said nothing, leading Chan into the restaurant where a server showed them at once to their private room. Chan hadn’t realised just how private this was going to be from Minho’s text: there was already a spread of food and drink on the table, and the server closed the door behind them once he’d shown them inside.

As soon as they were alone, Minho pushed Chan down into the booth, ignoring the food entirely. in favour of straddling his lap. “Did you miss me?” Minho asked, words muffled as he kissed along Chan’s jawline, mouthing over the faint stubble he found there. “It feels like you missed me,” he added, grinding his hips down in small circles as Chan bucked up against him. Needy. “It’s only been a day, pretty boy,” he tutted, cupping Chan’s face to study it, smiling at how he had already rendered him breathless. “Was I really that good?”

“Yes,” Chan answered at once, despite the question being somewhat rhetorical. Minho looked surprised that he’d done so so instantly, but it clearly pleased him. He kissed him, deep and messy, and Chan was left even more breathless than before. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Chan admitted, tilting his head back while Minho kissed a path down his neck, freeing his torso button by button until his shirt lay completely open. Slowly, deliberately, Minho marked up his collarbones, still grinding down against him.

“Suppose I didn’t help huh, baby?” Minho feigned contriteness, reaching down between them to cup the bulge in Chan’s trousers. He groaned, hips canting up to chase the friction, but Minho moved his hand away until he stayed still, forcing himself to stay obedient. “Did you get hard at work, sweetheart?” Minho stood so that he could unzip Chan’s fly and pull out his aching cock, and he hissed at the burning touch. “Did you think about me fucking myself open for you and get all flustered, hmm?” Flushing, Chan nodded. There was a reason he’d stayed at the office when Woojin had offered to buy him lunch, chair tucked against the desk to hide his legs beneath it. 

Minho had lube in his back pocket, because of _course_ he did, and he slicked Chan up with it, stroking him lazily enough that it made him whimper with the ache for _more_. “Please,” he tried, hoping that it would make him give in.

“Want me to ride you right here?” Minho asked, and laughed to himself when Chan nodded again. “You’re so filthy, Channie,” he sighed, and Chan could hardly deny it, “wanting to fuck me in public, in an unlocked room. Anyone could come in.”

Nobody would— that was the whole point of this room, after all, but Minho clearly got off on the possibility that they _could_. He watched the door with dark eyes while he prepped himself with Chan’s hand, the other man losing control over his own fingers as Minho guided every movement. He watched it as he sunk down slowly, torturously easing himself onto Chan’s cock.

Then, with a shift in focus that was dizzying, he watched Chan and _only_ Chan. For a time that dragged into something like forever, Chan was the centre of Minho Lee’s universe. He felt like a moth drawn to a flame, the pull of the criminal deadly and irresistible. There was a crucial difference, however, between Chan and such a metaphor.

The moth didn’t know that it would burn.

————————————

When Chan saw Minho for what would be the tenth time, it wasn’t on ‘official’ business, if their meetings could even be described as such in the loosest sense. Fucking the suspect in various fancy restaurants all across New York was hardly the finest example of police work done well. Chan was still being paid for his overtime hours, which should wrack him with guilt but just made him laugh at the irony. This time, Chan took the subway to Minho’s apartment with a face-mask on and his hoodie pulled up. He knew where the security cameras were in the area— he’d avoided them last time, and did so again as he made his way there. There was a distinct lack of them in the immediate area around the apartment block. Chan wondered if that was directly due to Minho, or simply why he’d chosen to live there. 

Likely, it was the former. Chan didn’t ask, preoccupied by the man in question pulling him by the tie and into his apartment. Later, the tie was replaced with a hand around Chan’s neck, choking him dizzy as he fucked Minho into the mattress.

————————————

After Chan woke up after that time, on the sofa just like the first, he was being watched by someone who was worryingly _not_ Minho. The man was model-pretty, though in a different sort of way to Minho, plush-lipped and soft-faced and beautiful. And in Minho’s living room. Warily, Chan sat up. He’d slept just in his boxers, and his entire chest was visibly littered with hickeys.

“Have we met before?” the man asked, “I swear I know you from somewhere.” He couldn’t be more than twenty-two, and he wasn’t the only one feeling a twinge of recognition. Just as Chan realised, the other man clearly did too, his pretty lips forming a shocked _O_. The man was Hyunjin Hwang, the son of Minho’s second husband, and the one who had testified in Minho’s defence in court. He looked behind Chan, who heard footsteps as someone else entered the room. “Minho, you _didn’t_ ,” Hyunjin gasped, shaking his head in disbelief and sending his long hair cascading over his cheeks. He brushed it back out of the way, watching in shock as Minho plopped himself into Chan’s lap.

“Oh you bet I did,” Minho replied with a sunny smile, kissing Chan hard enough to make him momentarily forget they were alone. “Go brush your teeth,” he said afterwards, sliding off Chan and onto the sofa, “you taste like ass, and not even for good reason.” 

Head spinning with the fact that Someone Else Knew, though Hyunjin was unlikely to expose either Minho or him, Chan walked through to Minho’s bathroom. He brushed his teeth in a dull sort of daze, watching himself in the mirror, and packed away his overnight bag once he was done. Yes, he had brought an overnight bag to Minho Lee’s house. 

When he returned, it seemed like he hadn’t missed much other than Minho staying smug and Hyunjin looking at him in shock. Awkwardly, he sat down next to Minho, who draped his legs over Chan’s lap. “He’ll be useful, Jinnie,” he promised, “won’t you, darling?”

Unsure of exactly what he was agreeing to, Chan nodded. 

————————————

Chan being useful, so it turned out, was distracting Woojin while Hyunjin and his boyfriend brought stolen goods onto the docks and smuggled them onto a ship that was waiting there for them. If sleeping with a suspect (over and over and _over_ ) hadn’t been enough, this would be the proverbial nail in Chan’s coffin for sure were he ever found out. He did it just the same, pretended he’d heard a noise and sent Woojin after it on his own, saying he needed to stay and watch the front. As nobody really expected to catch anything Minho Lee was doing so easily at this point, it was just Chan, Woojin and one other pair of junior cops on the scene— Chan had already sent those two on an unnecessary supply run when he got Woojin out of the way. Chan did this for Minho without a second thought. He should be worried about that.

His life seemed to consist, now, of noticing from a distance that he should be troubled by his own decisions whilst not actually caring in the slightest. That in itself should worry him. It didn’t, even if this plan meant another person knowing where his loyalties had been swayed to. Seungmin wouldn’t tell, either— Hyunjin wouldn’t, and Seungmin would do anything for him. Minho had reassured him of that the night before, kissing down his neck and leaving promises all over his flushed skin. Chan would believe in anything when it was murmured against his lips like this, bruised onto his stomach, spoken into the hollow of his collarbone. 

With everything Minho did to him, Chan ached all the more.

————————————

One day, Chan was sent to a corner store that Minho had allegedly been near to three months prior, on the order to trawl through the security footage for a specific time period. Were Minho to be spotted in any of the frames, it could potentially compromise a crucial alibi and tear a hole in his perfectly crafted illusion of innocence. Chan could see this, but played it down as no big deal despite his heart thundering in his chest at the thought. Calmly, he sent Woojin after a phantom lead elsewhere and headed to the store on his own.

Minho only appeared for a split second, but it would be enough. If Chan were a good cop, he’d be elated by this news, jumping for joy at the chance to put Lee behind bars. Instead, he pulled the burner phone Minho had given him from his pocket and dialled Hyunjin’s number. Hyunjin, the mastermind behind most of the hacking involved in Minho’s exploits, talked him through editing it out of the footage without a trace. What would have taken Hyunjin five minutes took Chan two hours, but they couldn’t risk Hyunjin himself coming to the store, as that would create a whole other mess to clear up.

Chan returned to the precinct empty-handed, hanging his head in faux-disappointment as he told Woojin they had nothing. He even put up with Woojin’s conciliatory hug at the so _very_ sad news, telling his partner that he was sure they’d find something soon, that Lee wasn’t infallible. 

That night, Chan was allowed to finger Minho open as a thank you gift of sorts. Thus rewarded, his hands were tied behind his head, Minho less even riding him than grinding against Chan achingly slow until he came with tears beading on his lashes and Minho’s release painting his chest.

————————————

One day, Minho killed someone as a test. 

It wasn’t his usual MO, wasn’t someone he’d ever married or even, to Chan’s knowledge, associated with. The victim was a scumbag with a prior offenses list longer than the eye could see, none of them pretty. He’d deserved to die, in Chan’s opinion, and he had one of Minho’s rings on his finger. Automatically, Chan checked that he wasn’t being watched and then pocketed the jewellery. As one of the first on the scene, he was at liberty to do so— the crime scene pictures hadn’t even been taken yet. 

_‘What was that about?’_ Chan texted him. 

_‘Good boy,’_ Minho replied in a characteristically cryptic fashion, _‘see me later.’_

Chan let himself in that night— Minho had given him his door code about a week ago in a show of trust that was quite unlike him. Shutting the door behind him, he went looking for Minho, checking all the usual rooms before finally tentatively poking his head around the door of the one room he hadn’t been in yet. He’d been right to be tentative— no sooner had he half stepped inside than a knife sped less than an inch past his face, burying into the centre of a target on the wall. Chan would deny the high-pitched squeal he let out until his dying day, referring to it instead as a ‘manly grunt of surprise’. It was not.

Minho laughed. “Hello, darling,” he singsonged, two more knives hanging from a belt around his waist. He beckoned to him and, as Chan approached, flicked his wrist, sending one of his remaining knives straight into the centre of a practice dummy’s skull. Chan flinched, but was _captivated_ by the sight, shivering visibly. His dick twitched in his trousers. It was, he supposed, unsurprising that someone who liked being roughed up was turned on by the sight of a hot guy with a knife. “I was just doing some target practice,” Minho explained, leaving Chan for a moment to go retrieve his knives, re-sheathing them around his waist.

“So I see,” Chan replied. His voice came out shaky.

Minho cocked his head, looking at Chan appraisingly. “Are you scared of me or turned on right now?” he asked, walking back and palming over the front of Chan’s trousers to check. He let out a low whistle, smile tugging at his lips. “Or is it a little bit of both?”

“I have your ring,” Chan replied instead, pulling it from his pocket and handing it over. “Why was it at a crime scene?”

“Wanted to see what you’d do,” Minho shrugged. “I wondered if you’d take the chance to bring me in.”

He said it offhandedly, but Chan could sense the underlying paranoia behind Minho’s actions. “Of course I didn’t,” he replied, the answer easier than breathing. Though, he supposed, breathing rarely came easy around Minho Lee for a multitude of reasons. “I would never.”

Minho studied Chan’s face for a moment. “You really mean that, don’t you?” Chan nodded. “You’re so good for me,” Minho praised, and Chan gulped audibly. “What do you want as your reward?”

“Can I blow you?” Chan asked, the words coming out in a hurried mess before he lost the courage to do so. He really, _really_ wanted to suck Minho’s dick.

Minho blinked in surprise. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Channie?” he checked, and the nickname just made Chan needier, nodding eagerly. “Okay, then,” Minho said, and Chan fell to his knees the second he was allowed. “Wait a second, baby,” Minho stopped him, going to take off the knife adorned belt he had been wearing.

“No!” Chan said quickly. _Too_ quickly to be passed off as anything other than desperation. “I, uh- I mean-” 

Looking somehow incredibly endeared by this realisation, Minho leant to brush Chan’s hair out of his eyes, hand then moving to his chin and tilting his head upwards. “Tell me, Channie,” he said, voice softly calculating, “is _that_ the real reward, getting to suck me off with my knife belt on, huh? _Cute.”_

Chan flushed deeply, wanting to avert his eyes but knowing Minho wanted him to look up. “Yes,” he admitted, mouth watering as Minho stopped undoing the belt around his waist and instead undid his zipper. By this point, he was near entirely hard— once Chan took him into his mouth, it seemed to take moments.

As someone who liked to be choked, Chan sometimes lamented his lack of a gag reflex. Times like this, however, made him glad of it, proud that he could make Minho _feel_ so intensely that he gripped at Chan’s hair like a lifeline. It was painful, and Chan yearned for more, hollowing his cheeks around him and bobbing with no small degree of enthusiasm. Internally, he preened as Minho pulled harder, moaned around him when Minho called him ‘pretty, like this’ on his knees. Chan wondered if he could come like this, just from sucking Minho off.

Probably.

He didn’t get to find out, as Minho pulled him off before either could find their release. Minho tugged him up, and Chan followed him as he went over to a desk in the corner of the room. The ‘training room’, so it seemed, also doubled as Minho’s office. To Chan’s disappointment, he took off the belt and laid it over the back of his chair. He was soon distracted, however. From the top drawer, Minho pulled two separate bottles of lube, handing one to him and putting the other beside him. One was the general, nondescript type, and the other was covered in cartoon cherries. Chan could guess the difference between the two— he’d been handed the colourful one first. “Wanna prep me, pretty boy?” Minho asked, knowing the answer before he spoke a single word. Both were well aware of how much Chan loved to stretch him: just as much as he liked blowing Minho, even.

Glad that he was being allowed to, as Minho often made him sit back and watch this part, Chan helped the other man out of his jeans and tight boxer-briefs. Until now, they’d just been open enough for Chan to get at his dick. Bracing himself on Chan, Minho hoisted himself up so that he was sat on top of his desk. Watching Chan, Minho spread his pretty legs and waited, tilting his head back contentedly as Chan knelt between them. When Chan squirted a little of the lube onto his fingertips, it smelt sweet. Experimentally, he lifted his hand to his mouth and found that, as expected, it was flavoured. It was nice. Well, as nice as lube _could_ be. Chan would take it.

“I’m clean,” Minho told him, tone nonchalant but the meaning ringing clear. Chan’s breath stopped in his throat, though he’d somewhat realised where this may be going from the moment Minho pulled out two different types of lube. Flavoured lube was a pretty clear invitation to _taste._ Sure, he’d wanted this for a while, but he hadn’t quite been able to muster the courage it would take to ask.

He leant down and kissed one of the muscular thighs, feeling Minho tense beneath his touch. Chan kissed again, a little higher, and then a little higher still. His movements were tentative in their worship, careful in case Minho hadn’t meant what he so desperately hoped that he had. When he reached the very top of Minho’s thighs, Chan looked up at him and saw Minho watching his every action. “Can I?” he checked, just to be sure.

“My good boy,” Minho praised, ruffling his hair in a somehow demeaning sort of way that Chan revelled in. _“Have your fill.”_ Chan couldn’t obey him quickly enough, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe over Minho’s hole. Minho gasped, and it was a beautiful sound, tangling his fingers in Chan’s hair to ground himself. “So good, baby,” he moaned as Chan mouthed around him, swirling his tongue but not yet pushing past his rim, “such a good boy for me, Channie. _More._ ”

Who was Chan to deny Minho when he sounded like that— who was he, indeed, to ever deny Minho at all?

Spreading Minho further, Chan licked into him, tongue breaching his rim gently at first, but building up to a gradual intensity. Minho made the prettiest sounds like this, hips rocking back against Chan’s face as his tongue fucked into him. When he pulled back, Minho scowled at Chan, and it was one of the cutest things he had ever seen. His face smoothed out only when Chan squirted out more lube, pushing a finger into him easily, working his tongue between two as he added a second. “Fu- _uck_ , Channie!” Minho whined, pushing back to the extent that he was pretty much riding Chan’s face at this point. “God, you’re so good at this,” he praised, his hands pulling hard at his hair, “made for it, weren’t you, baby?”

Chan certainly felt like he was in that moment, overwhelmed by how good he was making Minho feel and how good that made _him_ feel in turn. Once he’d moved up to three fingers, he let his mouth go back to trailing kisses over Minho’s thighs— he didn’t really want to be tasting any more now that he was switching bottles. There was too much lube, really, but it was insanely hot to watch it spilling from Minho, dripping down onto the desk as he ground against Chan’s fingers. Because he so _desperately_ wanted to, Chan bit down a little, not enough to bruise as he expected Minho to tell him to stop. Instead, however, Minho moaned even louder. With building confidence, Chan started to mark up Minho’s thighs as he fingered him, Minho’s hands in his hair a reassurance that he would be stopped if Minho wasn’t enjoying it too. It made Chan dizzy, the sight of Minho bruised up like he was his, sending a flurry of butterflies through his stomach that were _far_ too soft for a moment like this. 

“Against the wall, baby,” Minho instructed as he pulled Chan’s hand away, letting out a small whimper despite himself at the loss of fullness inside him. 

_Cute,_ Chan thought to himself, even as Minho pulled him over to the wall, pushing Chan’s trousers down and pouting until he had kicked them off and away. Even as Minho fingered lube out of his own leaking hole and used it to slick Chan up. With a far-away sort of feeling, Chan realised that he was a complete goner. He ignored it. “Wait,” he said instead, “need to get a condom.”

“Been fucking anyone else, pretty?” Minho asked, catching Chan’s wrist as he went to move away. He shook his head. “Neither have I,” Minho told him. Chan had hoped so, let himself believe it, but the confirmation still made him far too happy. It made his heart swell, made it ache like he was falling, and perhaps he already had. “Wanna go without this time, baby?” Minho asked, and Chan fought the urge to come just from that one sentence. “I’m feeling messy today.” Chan gulped. Nodded. Minho wrapped his arms around Chan’s neck. “Let’s put that strength of yours to use, huh?” 

When Minho’s legs hooked around his waist, Chan held him up with ease, bracing Minho’s back against the wall and gripping onto the muscular thighs he’d just been marking up minutes before. Reaching between them, Minho lined Chan’s dick up at his rim, pressing himself down against it until they both gasped at the breach. Slowly, bracing himself back on Chan’s shoulders, Minho sunk down onto his cock, letting out cute little gasps all the while. It felt different, pressed flush together at this angle, and from the noises Minho was making it clearly did for him, too. “Let me know when I can move, baby,” Chan said in the voice of a man already broken. He hoped that he could hold on.

It was a moment before either realised that this was the first time Chan had called Minho that, though Minho had been doing so from the very start. Panicking a little, Chan kissed away the confused tilt to Minho’s lips until he forgot what he’d even been thinking about. He said something against Chan’s mouth, and he had to pull away to hear him properly. Minho repeated himself, this time louder. “You can move, Channie,” he told him, eyes heated as he watched for Chan’s reaction.

Chan didn’t need telling twice, beginning to thrust shallowly up into him as soon as he was allowed to. That didn’t last for long, as Minho began to loudly complain that he was going too slowly. In what felt like rebellion, even though he was doing exactly as he was told, Chan snapped his hips against Minho’s ass so hard that he yelped, jolting in Chan’s grasp. It was immensely satisfying, and not just in the physical sense, to fuck Minho like this. In indulging his strength kink, Minho had inadvertently put himself entirely at Chan’s mercy. Chan knew this wasn’t _really_ the case, knew that Minho still had complete control of the situation whether he openly exerted it or not, but the illusion was thrilling. He’d never seen something quite so hot as the sight of Minho Lee writhing in his grasp, the arms around Chan’s neck trying to push himself down harder to meet Chan’s thrusts. 

As their pace quickened further still, Minho leant forward to stop the back of his head painfully colliding with the wall as he was repeatedly slammed against it. They kissed, then, a tangle of tongues and teeth that was less actual kissing than messy desperation. Minho’s hands moved from Chan’s shoulders to grip tightly onto his back, nails no doubt leaving a plethora of scratch marks all over his pale skin. Chan’s arms were aching a little by now, but he was fully confident in his ability to keep holding Minho up until both of them were spent. It shouldn’t be much longer now, anyway, judging by the volume of Minho’s moans. He always got noisier when he was close.

Knowing it would help Minho chase his release, Chan lifted him up near-entirely so that only the tip of his cock was still inside. Then, Chan _dropped_ him down like he was weightless, raising Minho back up to repeat the motion before he’d even finished the startled moan he’d let out. Again and again, Chan treated Minho like he was lighter than air, the slighter man bouncing down onto Chan’s cock through no effort on his own part, just letting himself be used and using Chan in return. His whines grew higher, a telltale sign that he was right on the edge, and Chan went all in, fucking him the hardest he had yet until Minho cried out. Belatedly, looking down between then as Minho spurted white all over both of their bodies, Chan realised that he’d just managed to make him come untouched. This, combined with Minho tightening around him in the aftermath of his orgasm, was enough to send Chan crashing into his own, shaking as he spilled deep inside the other man.

Without a condom.

Chan had forgotten about that, if he were entirely honest. He hoped that Minho was okay with it, given that he’d made no indication that he wanted Chan to pull out at the end. Opening his eyes, he saw Minho smiling at him, albeit exhaustedly. “It’s alright, Channie,” he reassured him, “I wanted messy, remember?”

Messy he was for sure, especially when they pulled apart and Minho stood with shaky legs, holding onto Chan’s arm for support as white streaked down the thighs Chan had covered in marks. There were new ones forming, too, in the shape of Chan’s hands, imprints of his fingers bruised onto Minho from where he’d gripped as he fucked into him. Minho looked _wrecked_ , and it was the hottest thing Chan had seen in his entire life. He could barely keep himself upright, but didn’t let that make him seem weak, telling Chan to help him rather than asking for help.

Somehow, with his hair all wet as Chan fingered come out of him in the shower, Minho grew even prettier. When he’d changed into his sleep clothes, which consisted of briefs and a baggy t-shirt, his hair all fluffy from towelling it dry, Minho grew prettier still. “You can stay, if you’d like,” he told Chan, clearly trying a little too hard to sound casual. He bit back a smile at this— he didn’t think Minho would appreciate it. He sounded cute, and it wasn’t good for the way Chan had already started to feel. Like this was something more to him than lust.

“Might go home,” Chan said, to see how Minho would react. “Not sure if my back can take another night on your sofa, nice as it is.”

Minho paused, an internal battle visible behind his eyes before he spoke. Again, he tried to make it sound like nothing. “You can share the bed with me,” he told him with calculated nonchalance, “if you want to. I don’t mind either way.”

Chan willed his heart not to soar, but it escaped, flying unhindered despite his best efforts. _This means nothing_ , he tried to tell himself. Tried, but failed. That night, Chan, one of New York’s supposedly ‘finest’, slept beside Minho Lee, renowned criminal. Not to get information, or to in any way help the case he was supposed to be working. Because he wanted to. 

When he woke the next morning, Minho had curled into his arms in his sleep. He made soft noises while he slept, like a kitten, and whined unconsciously when Chan pulled away. But he wasn’t in _love_ , Chan tried to argue with himself. Not yet, at least. He looked down at Minho, his hair splayed out like a halo on his pillow and mouth open ever-so-slightly as he dreamed. Like this, he looked more like an angel than ever, like a work of art. Minho shifted in his sleep, cuddling the duvet into his chest in Chan’s absence.

Chan’s heart ached, and it ached, and it _fell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: if you're wondering why they switch lube, it's because it was pointed out to me before i posted that flavoured lube isn't really the best to use for anal as it dries out pretty quick due to being water based!! i like to be as accurate as i can, so they switch to a silicone based one when chan is actually fucking him <33
> 
> \---
> 
> anyway!! thanks for 3k hits and 300 kudos!! keep em coming, i'm so happy with the response to this!! i'm on twt @minbiins, follow me for shitposting, scenarios + spoilers) i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! please comment telling me your thoughts, your prayers, anything you like xoxo
> 
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> -v


	4. Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Neck arched, column of his throat exposed in a way that made Chan want to bite it, Minho’s lower lip was caught in his teeth as he moaned. He looked ethereal._

Yet again, Chan’s alarm went off at 4am. Had he been at his _own_ apartment, he could have slept for another two hours, at the very least. He was not. Once again, he had foregone sleep so that he could wake up with Minho Lee in his arms. Chan wasn’t yet willing to quite go into the implications of that, but he knew that a realisation wasn’t far off, if he were honest with himself. Quickly, and partly to distract himself, he turned off the alarm. Allowed himself one more minute. 

He rolled out of the bed and watched Minho feel around in his sleep. Grabbing a pillow from his own side of the bed, Chan put it in front of him and he snuggled into it. Someone so deadly shouldn’t be half as endearing to Chan— it was part of his charm, he supposed. 

A shower and a change into the clothes he’d brought with him the night before, and Chan was walking to the subway with his cap pulled down and a mask covering the lower half of his face. While he was waiting for his train, someone told him that he looked just like the older brother from Big Hero 6, and he pretended not to know English rather than reply to them. With some cruel twist of fate, in escaping the overenthusiastic teen, he ran straight into Jeongin and Felix from IT. Consequently, Chan spent his ride to work bullshitting about how he’d been visiting his grandma on the other side of the city, which was why he’d ended up on their route. 

Luckily, they seemed more preoccupied with embarrassment that he’d caught them holding hands. The two of them were incredibly grateful at his reassurance that he wouldn’t say anything about workplace relationships to Captain Seo. Chan wasn’t really in a place to talk about unprofessional behaviour while on the job, but they didn’t need to know that. Especially not now that both of the top IT techs owed him a favour. 

_That was rather manipulative of you,_ he thought to himself as he walked into work with the two walking pointedly separate from one another. Chan didn’t care.

Changbin called while Chan was on his lunch break, but he had been busy getting his dick sucked in a restaurant bathroom, so he called him back on his way home. He was due early at a stakeout he’d been called into as backup the next morning, _too_ early to justify going there from Minho’s, so he was headed back to his own apartment for once. 

The call rang five times, and then Jisung picked up.

“Hey, Channie!” he enthused so loudly that Chan’s ear hurt a little. “He’s in the shower right now, so I picked up when I saw it was you calling— what’s up?”

“Oh, I had a missed call,” Chan explained, “do you know why?”

“He did mention asking you round again earlier,” Jisung mused, “maybe it was that— we haven’t seen you for _weeks_ , Channie! It was like a month ago when you were last over, even.”

Chan did feel a _little_ guilty about that, but he wouldn’t deny that he’d been avoiding them. The two of them knew him too well, and he was somewhat worried that they would see right through him. “Sorry…” he trailed off, “I’ve just been busy with work.”

_“Just_ work?” Jisung prodded, and there it was. What he’d been scared of. Two sentences into a phone call and Chan had already somehow given something away to his attentive friend. Another two, and he’d been talked into going round the next week for dinner. 

One hurried “tell Changbin hi from me” later, and Chan hung up before he could say anything more.

————————————

Chan had passed out over at Minho’s the night before, one of those exhaustion driven sleeps that happened every so often and left him dead to the world. Minho blowing him after work had left him so utterly blissed out that he’d just slipped away, content in the knowledge that Minho had been getting himself off at the same time so he wouldn’t be leaving him hanging. Waking up now, his groggy state as he blinked sleep out of his eyes was suddenly skyrocketed into absolute clarity when he saw Minho. 

Specifically, what Minho was _wearing_.

Stalking towards him from across the room, Minho was wearing… lingerie. He wasn’t just talking panties, as delectable as that alone would have been. Oh no. He was dressed in the full works: heels, thigh highs and a garter belt beneath which were near-transparent lace panties. Dangling from one hand were two pairs of handcuffs, and he watched Chan’s reaction amusedly. “Good morning, honey,” he greeted him with a smile that could mean nothing good.

_What the fuck had Chan just woken up to?_

Minho straddled his lap in one sure movement, wiggling a little as Chan’s dick twitched in interest. 

“Uh, what, uh, what are you doing?” Chan garbled intelligently, every last remaining brain cell vacating the premises at the close up sight of Minho in red lace.

“Well, _Officer_ , _”_ Minho began, emphasising his title as he’d done the first time they met. This time, it was accentuated by him grinding down harshly. “It seems terribly unfair that you’re the only one that ever gets to use these.”

They weren’t Chan’s handcuffs. Those were in with the pile of his stuff on the sofa in Minho’s lounge and _these_ were clearly made more for Minho’s sort of usage, but the sentiment was just the same. Expertly, he raised Chan’s willing arms up and cuffed them to the bed behind him. Now sat up, pillow propped behind his back, Chan returned to taking in every detail of Minho’s breathtaking appearance. It was for the best that he did, as he slid back off Chan’s lap and returned holding a slip of fabric. “Be good for me, lovely boy, I have a surprise for you,” he instructed. 

It was a strange feeling, one of his key senses being taken away. He could still _hear_ Minho moving around, opening up a cupboard and taking something out, but couldn’t see a thing thanks to the blindfold completely obscuring his vision. Add that to the fact that he couldn’t move his arms thanks to the cuffs attaching him to the bedposts and it made for quite the mix of sensations. 

“M-Minho?” Chan spoke tentatively, jumping as said man then trailed a finger down his bare torso. He didn’t need to be able to see for _this;_ sight wasn’t necessary to know the expression on his lover’s face as he looked at Chan. Minho always enjoyed doing that, running his hands over him and watching him react to his touch.

“Shh, baby,” Minho told him, hand lifting off him until he felt it again a split second later, a finger pressed to his lips. “I just want to look at you for a second. Wanna take you all in.”

Chan whined lowly in his throat, but stayed otherwise silent, his whole body hot with anticipation. He heard Minho move, picking something up from the bedside table. It was something metallic, judging from the sound it made when Minho ran it along the steel bedpost, but he’d no idea what. He had to fight to keep quiet as instructed— as much as he wanted to be good for Minho, this waiting was driving him crazy. 

“Stay still for me, baby,” Minho warned, bracing him against the bed with a hand flat against his stomach. “Don’t wanna hurt you too bad tonight, now, do I?”

Something sharp ran gently across one of Chan’s collarbones, not breaking any skin but setting him alight in a flurry of goosebumps. He tensed, hearing Minho laugh lightly in response. 

It was an unmistakable feeling, that of a knife tracing across his skin. He squirmed against the sheets, arousal flooding through him.

“Ah, so I _was_ right,” Minho observed. “You _do_ like this.” Chan could hear the smile in his voice. “The depths of your depravity never fail to enthrall me, my darling,” he proclaimed dramatically, somewhat poetically. Somehow it didn’t break the mood. 

Chan bit his lip. He really was trying his best to stay quiet.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Minho cooed. He ran the blade across Chan’s neck, cold against him as he swallowed, the metal shifting slightly with the movement of his throat. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you moan.”

Gratefully, Chan did just that as Minho pressed the blunt edge of the knife roughly against his neck, a hand slipping into his boxers at the same time and beginning to slowly stroke. 

“You like it when I play with my knives, don’t you, angel?”

Chan nodded quickly, needily. The knife traced his cheek, nicking a little as he gasped, and Minho leant down and kissed the spot.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” Chan replied, choking on another moan as Minho moved lower, knife skirting over his hip bones as he pulled Chan’s boxers off. “You look- I, y-you look so good with them, Minho, _fuck!”_

Minho licked and bit, sucking a love bite onto his hip where he’d trailed the knife seconds before, tracing once more over the tender skin with the sharp metal once he pulled away. 

_“Please,”_ Chan whimpered, the torturously slow pace of Minho’s small hand keeping him burning and yet painfully desperate at the same time.

“You know that word won’t be enough on its own, sweetie,” Minho chided, biting his inner thigh and tapping the blunt side of the knife in an offbeat rhythm against Chan’s tensed abdomen. “Beg for me, you know you want to.”

“God, baby, do you know what you fucking do to me?” Chan groaned, breath catching in his throat as Minho continued to lavish bites on his sensitive skin. “How can I not beg for you, fucking hell, please Minho _please,_ I need you so bad.”

“What do you want, Channie? Tell me,” Minho instructed, as if he didn’t know well and good exactly what Chan yearned for. 

“Your mouth, baby, please, need it please,” he begged without shame. “I feel like I’m gonna die at this pace, please, please, _please_ I need you a- _ah!”_

Minho kissed his tip, lasting only as long as a peck on the cheek, then did the same all the way down his dick, pressing one final kiss on his stomach after reaching the end. “Like this?” he asked, infuriating as ever. “Was that how you wanted my mouth?”

“You _know_ it wasn’t.”

“Getting a little backtalky, are we, darling?” Minho tutted, scratching his stomach lightly with the point of the knife. It wouldn’t leave anything near as bad as Minho had done to his back in the past— Chan wouldn’t even bleed. Still, it was a sensation that left him breathless and wanting. “It’s such a turn on that you’re like this, baby; just when I think you can’t get hotter you one up yourself each time. Such a little slut for me, aren’t you, pretty?”

Chan, hit with both degradation and praise at once, could only whimper for a moment before he was capable of replying. He was always a mess when Minho combined them. “Yes, I am,” he said after taking a few seconds to remember how to speak. “Only for you.”

“That’s my Channie,” said Minho, lapping up a bead of precome. “Now, darling, _tell me._ Where do you want my mouth?” 

“Around me,” Chan specified at last. “Please— I’ll be good for you, I _promise.”_

“I know you would if I asked you to,” Minho murmured softly, taking just the tip of Chan’s cock into his mouth for a moment and swirling his tongue around it before moving away. “But you don’t need to be this time; fuck my mouth, sweet boy. I’m in the mood for that,” he instructed, and Chan heard the knife dropping to the floor next to the bed as Minho swallowed him down.

Arms still powerless, Chan couldn’t do as he really wanted to and tangle his hands in Minho’s soft hair, but he could still move his hips just fine, fucking shallowly into his open mouth. Minho’s love of oral was a blessing that Chan felt nobody could ever truly deserve, least of all him, but by fuck was he grateful for it. He was the best Chan had ever had by _far_ , even his most mind-blowing past sexual experiences paling into nothingness in comparison to Minho’s skills. 

He’d joked once that he was so talented because he liked to make his husbands black out instead of bothering with full intercourse, but Chan honestly wouldn’t have been surprised to find out he was telling the truth. Chan himself had certainly been close to passing out multiple times due to Minho’s mouth alone. 

He hoped that he wouldn't, however, given that they were yet to reach the main event. With their busy schedules that week, it had been hard to squeeze in time for much more than a rushed handjob when they saw each other in private. Chan missed being inside of Minho like a drowning man missed air.

Minho pulled back for a moment. “That is _not_ fucking my mouth, Channie,” he complained. “Do it properly or I stop, those are your options.”

Could anyone say no to that?

He certainly couldn't; his hips moved faster at once at Minho’s words, subconscious reacting faster than Chan had even processed them. Minho gagged, which was no small feat— Chan was always oddly pleased whenever he managed to make him do so. For someone as skilled as the younger man there was rarely any issue taking his cock completely without choking on it. 

Chan hated the blindfold a little in that moment, obscuring the sight of Minho with tears brimming in his wide eyes, preventing the electric eye contact they usually shared in such moments. Scratch that. If he could see Minho right now, there was no way he’d last another second. The rapid bobbing of his head was already making that a challenge enough as it was.

When Minho pulled away at last, Chan was teetering on the very edge. He hated the blindfold considerably more than just ‘a little’ now, and hated the handcuffs with an even greater passion. He heard Minho opening the bedside drawer and pulling things out. After he’d torn open a packet and rolled the condom onto Chan’s aching dick, the touch far too brief, he sat back. 

For a moment, there was silence, and then Chan realised. 

The fucker. Minho knew this was one of his favourite parts, both to watch and/or participate in, and he could do neither. Entirely helpless, Chan could only listen.

A cap popped open. He knew _exactly_ what Minho was doing, could hear his short intake of breath as he worked the first finger in, could feel him shifting on the bed to grant himself an easier angle. Chan’s mouth went dry.

“Minho, _please,”_ he begged without abandon. “Just let me see you.” He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to touch him just yet, even as much as he ached to do so, but maybe he’d at least get to watch…

“Hmm,” Minho hummed, the sound a little choked as he shifted again, likely adding another digit. “Let me think… No.” He hadn’t really expected him to give in, but it had at least been worth a try. “If you didn’t look so good all defenceless like that, I’d be using your hands right now,” he told him nonchalantly, the little whimpers he let out in between every few words lessening the air of unaffectedness he was trying to portray. “Worth it, though, even if my fingers aren’t as thick as yours. You know I love to watch you squirm.”

“I wish I could do the same,” Chan replied somewhat petulantly, arms aching a little even with the pillows Minho had propped up underneath them. “You’re the literal Devil, you know that?”

“You’re hardly the first to say so, darling,” Minho replied with a laugh. “Why, I have a list of at least, say, _five_ who’d easily call me that.” He rocked down against his fingers— Chan could feel the bed moving as he did so. 

Minho had just all but entirely admitted what both had known from long before they’d even met: he had killed off his past five husbands. Such an admission would have been perfect were it in an interrogation room and if Chan cared anymore about him doing so. 

Chan should absolutely _not_ find it hot, both the fact that Minho had killed people and that he had absolutely no remorse at doing so. At this point, however, he’d gone beyond denying the grayness of his own morals. If someone had told him two months ago that he would be blindfolded and handcuffed to a bed with a near naked Minho Lee climbing into his own equally naked lap, he would have laughed in their face. Now, however, Minho’s lube-covered hands slicking up his cock, there was nowhere else in the world that Chan would choose to be other than there.

“I think I’ll see how long I can make you wait another time,” Minho mused, one hand still on Chan’s dick but not moving it. He resisted the urge to thrust up into his fist, knowing how close he finally was to being inside him and not wanting to risk that being delayed any further by Minho giving him a further lesson in patience. “Right now, however,” Minho went on. “I’m too fucking horny to tease you any longer.”

The second Chan was next alone, he was going to thank every deity he could think of for finally letting him catch a break. It felt like he’d lain there for eternity wanting Minho, forever yearning for the demon just beyond his grasp.

Lips were on his all of a sudden, Minho kissing him as he knelt on Chan’s lap, lining him up and rubbing his dick through the cleft of his ass a couple of times. That was quintessential Minho, teasing him till the very last second even though he had _just_ said he’d had enough of doing so. 

He heard the sheets rustle as Minho wiped his hands on them, and then the blindfold was suddenly being pulled off his head. Minho looked like a hot _mess_ now that he could finally see him, and Chan doubted he himself looked any better. His lover’s hair was all over the place, tousled even without the aid of Chan’s hands pulling at it. As they always ended up, his lips were red and swollen. Somewhere along the line he’d lost the panties and heels, but he was still wearing his thigh highs and garter belt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said reflexively, in awe that someone like Minho would ever even look in his direction, let alone touch him like this. 

Minho smiled that smile that always took Chan’s every last breath of air away, a mix of cockiness and beauty and, as of late, a hint of fondness. It was far too much for anyone to handle, let alone someone as enamoured as poor Chan. “I’m aware, darling,” he shot back, kissing Chan once more just the same. Seeing Chan wince a little, he relented. “Now, if I take the handcuffs off, you need to be nice and still for me, okay?”

“Yes!” Chan agreed both too quickly and too loud, making Minho laugh. He supposed the sight was worth it being at his expense, worth it for the heady feeling of Minho’s lithe frame shaking on top of him. Minho reached up and freed Chan’s hands, kissing both his wrists in turn before lowering them to the sheets and giving him a _look_ that meant that he had better keep them there. He bunched the slightly sticky fabric up in his fists to help him ground himself and stay true to the unspoken promise he’d just given his lover. 

_I’ll be good for you._

Finally, Minho was lining Chan up and this time for real, the lubed up tip of his dick breaching the still impossibly tight ring of muscle. Chan knew he was stretched, had heard him doing so and felt the bed rock as his lover fucked himself with his own fingers just centimetres away from him. Despite this, Minho felt overwhelming as always, sucking him in like he’d never taken a cock before. His tightness combined with Chan’s girth was a combination that sent both beyond ecstasy each and every time. 

Only the tip inside him, Minho steadied himself against Chan’s muscular shoulders, arms shaking a little from the exertion, and slowly lowered himself down, not breaking eye contact once. Inch by inch, Chan felt himself disappear inside Minho until they were pressed flush together in every sense of the word. For several long seconds, they stayed like that, panting and each just _looking_ at the other, taking them in. 

Minho had a fallen eyelash stuck on one of his high cheekbones, and Chan moved without thinking, gently brushing it off with the pad of his thumb. Already committed to the action, he figured he might as well follow through with it and so held his thumb up to Minho’s lips. 

“Make a wish,” Chan said, voice cracking a little over the words as he made himself focus on the small moment and not the fact that he was inside Minho, waiting on him to move. 

Of all the things they had just done, this should not have been the one that made Minho blush. Yet it had, his cheeks dusted rosy pink underneath the sheen of sweat that both had acquired by this point. Eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, he blew on Chan’s thumb and then looked back at him, something imperceptible in his gaze as he pressed a kiss where the eyelash had been, sealing the wish.

Something had shifted in the air, but Minho seemed a bit funny about it, eyes changing as he suddenly pushed Chan’s hand back onto the mattress. He let him without complaint, knowing that the control was something Minho still needed. One day, he’d trust Chan enough to relinquish it. He had to have faith in that. Besides, this dynamic was one he himself wanted for the majority of the time, anyway. Though an undeniable switch, Chan more often leant towards submission.

Bracing himself once more against Chan’s shoulders, he pushed upwards, Chan’s cock nearly out of him before he was _slamming_ back down, resheathing him in one movement. Chan lost control of both his voice and his mind, crying out broken, unintelligible curses as Minho did it again and _again_. 

“Fuck, baby,” Minho moaned, biting at Chan’s shoulder hard enough that he’d have a pretty bruise to mark the spot later. At least it was far enough to the side that his shirt would cover it, so long as it wasn’t that one old one that had gotten a little see through after a few years of washes. _“Fuck,”_ he swore again. His nails were digging into Chan’s biceps as he continued using his body to propel himself, riding him so hard that Chan was starting to see stars. “Nobody does me better than you.”

Despite the whole his-dick-in-Minho situation, Chan really didn't think that he should let be classified as the one doing the ‘doing’ right then, though the praise still made his breath falter. Experimentally, he met Minho halfway on his next downward motion, thrusting into him without prompt instead of leaving him entirely in control of their movement as he liked to be most often. Whether it be making Chan stay still while he rode him or laying back and ordering Chan to fuck him harder, Minho didn't tend to let Chan take any initiative. His eyes widened, flying open from their hooded state, but he wasn't pissed off as Chan had worried he might get. “This o- this okay?” he asked, voice catching on a moan that involuntarily spilled out as Minho clenched around him.

“Baby’s getting _brave_ , isn’t he?” Minho said, running a thumb over Chan’s bottom lip. He seemed to contemplate. “But I don’t mind a little more active participation, so long as you remember who’s calling the shots.”

“I doubt you’d let me forget,” Chan pointed out sardonically.

Minho kissed him harshly, tongues and teeth and desperate want. “If this didn’t feel so good, I’d choke you out for that,” he murmured against Chan’s lips, grinding down into his lap.

Thinking of that left Chan weak even as he responsively thrust up once more. The sight of Minho gasping as he did so was one he would never forget, one so beautiful that he wanted a floor to ceiling oil painting commissioned of his lover. Neck arched, column of his throat exposed in a way that made Chan want to bite it, Minho’s lower lip was caught in his teeth as he moaned. He looked ethereal.

Chan was pretty sure he was in love with him, though that wasn’t a realisation he had the brain capacity to acknowledge in that moment.

“C-Chan,” Minho gasped, something vulnerable in his voice that Chan was not usually privy too even though he could tell, on some level, that it was there. His nails were going to leave bruises at this rate, not just his mouth, so hard was he clutching at his arms as he rode him, Chan’s hips matching his pace and the bed rocking. “So good for me, baby, I’m-” Minho paused, panting heavily but not halting his movement. _“I’m gonna-”_

He sounded so wrecked and looked so unbelievably _pretty_ as he came, covering both their chest and stomachs, that Chan wasn’t far behind, spilling into the condom. Minho slumped laxly against him, head falling onto his shoulder as they both caught their breath. “That was something, huh?” he wondered, running his finger up and down Chan’s bicep absentmindedly. 

“Yeah,” Chan breathed out, voice barely making a sound. He looked at Minho in wonder, as he always did, though his gaze grew softer each time he did so. Though he could feel these shifts, his heart beginning to ache ever-so-slightly with every glance at the unfathomable man, he made no attempt to halt the fall. There was no stopping it.

“Alright, get outta me, we have to shower and you need to go. Remember, you told me Woojin was gonna pick you up for lunch from your place,” Minho said matter-of-factly, effectively ruining Chan’s emotional tangent. 

Chan _hadn’t_ remembered, and groaned. “Don’t wanna,” he complained. Even so, he did as asked and slowly eased out of Minho, wincing a little at the oversensitivity. Tying the condom in a knot, he lobbed it towards the trash can, but missed. 

“Chan, you get that off my floor right now or so help me God they’ll never find your body.”

“I’m getting it, I’m getting it,” he placated him, picking the sticky latex up from the carpet and rolling his eyes as Minho wolf-whistled at him bending over. “Was that really necessary?”

“Oh, always, darling,” Minho replied. “Now, carry me to the shower— I don’t feel like walking after that.”

“Someone’s bossy today,” Chan remarked, making Minho laugh. 

“Firstly, it’s your fault I don’t want to walk, so if you want less of me complaining go get dick reduction surgery. Secondly, bossy is just how you like me and you know it.”

He wasn’t _wrong._

Chan ended up sucking Minho off in the shower after he'd washed his hair. He told himself that it was to cease his whining about being sore, though the real reason was that he just wanted to.

————————————

He really, _really_ was not in the mood for lunch with Woojin, but if he kept cancelling then his partner was going to start getting suspicious. So dutifully he headed back to his apartment in time to make it look like he’d been there all along. It would be nice if Woojin and him had separate days off, but their jobs were so interconnected that that was never the case. Though they saw each other every day anyway, Woojin had been hounding him to properly sit down for lunch and ‘a chat’ on one of their free days. Chan thought they had plenty of time to do so while at work, but Minho had encouraged him not to raise suspicion.

Woojin always made it a little awkward, and today was no exception. When they’d walked out of the building (after Woojin unnecessarily coming to meet him at his apartment), Woojin held the passenger side door open like they were on a date. Chan smiled awkwardly, said “thanks bro,” and hoped that that would be enough for him to take a hint. As ever, it was not.

Restaurants with Woojin weren’t nearly as fun as they were with Minho, though Chan knew his partner would probably like them to be. He gave in and let him pay most times, taking it as repayment for having to deal with his flirting. Chan had tried for years to make it obvious so that Woojin would just _stop_ , but the man could not take a hint to save his life.

“So, Channie,” Woojin started. _Channie_. He hated it. “Are you seeing anyone? We haven’t had a non-workplace chat in a little while, have I missed anything?” Chan supposed that this was why Woojin insisted on meeting up like this— he managed to avoid some of the flirtation by putting an emphasis on acting professional. 

“No,” he replied, continuing quickly before Woojin’s face could finish lighting up, “I’m not really looking for much more than hookups at the moment.”

“Oh,” Woojin said, smiling brightly at him nonetheless. A forced smile, but one that still held hope, as much as Chan wished that it wouldn’t. “It’s admirable that you focus so much on your work though, Channie— haven’t you ever thought of settling down, though?”

“One day,” Chan said, and then immediately regretted his words. Knowing Woojin, he’d take that as a sign to wait for him. “How about you?”

“Same as you,” Woojin said too fast, too obvious that the _‘same as you’_ really meant _‘because of you’_. 

“You should find someone, Woojin,” Chan pushed. But Woojin’s eyes read that he already had.

————————————

“You seem different, Chan,” Changbin remarked as he set the takeout down. Chan had known it would be like this. “What’s changed?”

“I’m seeing someone,” Chan replied, knowing it’d be more suspicious if he denied that there was anything going on at all. “Being with him is making me reevaluate what I want from life, honestly.”

Jisung gasped. “That serious already?” He paused in thought. “Wait— is this the bathroom guy? The one you told us about last time you were here?”

It seemed aeons ago, now. Chan had indeed been putting off seeing his two friends since then, trying to figure himself out first because he knew they would try and do the same on his behalf. He nodded, and the pair sat opposite him whooped over-dramatically. “You’re so immature,” Chan sighed fondly as Jisung leant across the table expectantly for a fist bump. He gave in, just the same.

“Chan’s getting _laid_ ,” Jisung cheered, toasting him with a half-full can of sprite. “Proud of you, bud. You _are_ getting laid, right? That wasn’t a one time thing?” He obviously doubted that it could be, but checked, nonetheless.

Laughing lightly, Chan nodded. “Yeah, a _lot_. That’s all you’re getting, though.”

“What,” Changbin asked, “is he into some really kinky shit or something?” Chan felt himself blush, triggering a burst of laughter from across the table. “Damn, Chan,” Changbin marvelled, looking shocked but undoubtedly impressed, “what is it that you won’t even tell _us_?”

_A knife, trailing down his body. His hands bound, vision obscured. “Good boy.”_

“Nothing,” Chan shook them off, “I’m just keeping some things private.” He opted, then, to change the topic. “Do you ever feel like you just weren’t _meant_ for your career?”

That shook them up suitably. “I mean,” Changbin laughed, “you work for my father. I can’t imagine anything worse, honestly, but what brought this about?”

“I feel freer nowadays,” Chan told them, knowing how cryptic he sounded but unable to say anything more without admitting to several felonies. “I want to keep feeling that way.”

“This guy’s really done a number on you, huh?” Jisung sighed. “You know we’ll support you, though, Channie. No matter what.”

_No matter what._ Somehow, Chan doubted that. Maybe, though— if anyone would still stand by him, it would be these two. The extent of Chan’s definition of freedom may well be enough to shatter that, though. It was a little unnerving how even that didn’t make him reconsider. Somehow, he had reached a point where he was willing to give up _everything_ for Minho Lee.

Chan was definitely in love.

It should scare him, but he was beyond that now. He’d skipped several stages, and his mind had settled on acceptance. Whatever Minho wanted from him now, it was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey please let me know what you thought!!! i was pretty nervous abt posting this chapter even though i wrote some of it a while back,, comments and kudos are very motivating, pls feed my incessant need for validation xoxo
> 
> u can find me on twitter as always @minbiins!! <33
> 
> -v


	5. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do whatever it takes to keep him occupied,”_ Minho had instructed him. _“I can’t be interrupted.”_
> 
> Chan could never tell him no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact the smut scene in this was the first thing I ever wrote for this fic... Make of that what you will. 
> 
> WARNING (SPOILER): THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM IN WHICH ONE OF THE PEOPLE INVOLVED DOES NOT KNOW THEY ARE BEING WATCHED. IF THAT TRIGGERS YOU ETC, PLEASE SKIP.
> 
> i am not condoning this as morally sound, but it is necessary for the plot. also at this point. minchan do Not care. they're not exactly virtuous

Hyunjin, upon seeing nobody asleep on Minho’s couch, must have assumed that his brother was alone. Chan hadn’t explicitly asked, but he definitely got the feeling that Minho didn’t often allow other men to sleep beside him in bed. He might even be the first— Minho seemed more and more surprised by the day, how much Chan was clearly gone for him.

Chan had been half asleep, dozing alone in Minho’s bed, when he heard a sentence that was immediately sobering. Suddenly, Chan was wide awake, though he stayed completely still.

“I still think that we should kill him,” Hyunjin protested, responding to something from Minho that Chan hadn’t been focused enough to hear. Were Chan a good cop, he would grab his phone and record the incriminating conversation. Good cops didn’t tend to sleep in suspect’s beds. “He’s a liability and you know it, Min.”

“No.” Minho’s voice was firm.  _ Who were they talking about? _ “Not him.” A pause, some mumbling that Chan only caught the end of: “... in my room.”

“Are you kidding me?” Hyunjin asked, incredulous. “Next thing I know you’ll have me factoring him into the backup plan.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Chan longed to go through there, to ask what was going on, but he knew well enough by now that it would scare Minho away if he pried. Eyes still closed, he feigned sleep until he heard the front door loudly close, rubbing his eyes as Minho walked into his bedroom. “What’s going on?” Chan asked, playing up the drowsiness in his tone.

“Nothing, sweet boy,” Minho reassured him, carding his fingers through Chan’s hair. “Jinnie was just over to talk about something I need to sort out.”

Chan sat up, but Minho stayed stroking his hair. He leant into it as he asked “Can I help?”

“Don’t even have to ask you now, now do I?” Minho cooed, scratching at Chan’s scalp until he hummed contentedly. “I do need a favour, yes…”

“Anything,” Chan replied. They both knew that he meant it.

“I have Jinnie monitor your evidence logs at the station,” Minho began, “and while he’s deleted something from the system, I need the physical copy. It’s nothing that’s been picked up on yet, but it could potentially… well. It could lead to difficulties.”

“What can I do?”

“When is the station least active?” Minho asked, and Chan told him. “Okay, then I’ll need to use you as a distraction. Can you do that for me, baby?” he checked. Chan’s chest was bare, crisscrossed with imprints from the duvet. Minho kissed down it slowly, laughing a little at the sight of Chan’s dick already twitching in his boxers. He paused at the hem, looking up at Chan through his lashes. “Well, my love?”

Chan had already nodded, had already agreed before the thinly-veiled promise of oral, but Minho had been preoccupied with marking up his skin. “You know I will,” he said aloud nonetheless, so that his lover could be sure. 

“Good boy,” Minho praised, pulling Chan’s cock free. “How about an early reward?”

————————————————— 

Mid week, Captain Seo informed Chan and Woojin that they were reaching the end of the amount of time and resources the higher-ups were willing to spend on this case. While, sure, catching Lee would be a big break, from what Seo confided in them nobody really expects them to. This killing is following the path of the ones before, and all have ended in Lee being left alone until he kills again. Woojin looked distraught that Lee would simply be getting away with it again. Chan, meanwhile, hid his elation behind a mask of faux sorrow.

Now on a time limit, Woojin threw himself into the case like never before. Chan had to do the same as to not rouse suspicion, and one night Woojin said something that worried him. “I think he has someone on the inside, Channie,” Woojin confided, eyes darting around like anyone could be listening. “This case feels different from the last, somehow. I can’t quite place my finger on it.”

Chan hoped that it stayed that way. Though his intellect was clouded slightly (majorly) by his feelings for Chan, Woojin was no fool. They were the same rank, after all, and that didn’t come by chance. Were Woojin to focus a little too hard, Chan may well be found out. He’d a feeling Woojin would ignore it for as long as he could, even if he did make such a discovery. Woojin wouldn’t want to believe that Chan could ever do wrong.

————————————————— 

One night, later that same week, Chan was sat in his office with Woojin. The trainees had been sent home ‘because they needed rest to refocus’, and so Chan and Woojin were mostly alone in the station. It was late, and there were a few others dotted around the various floors. Little enough that they could be avoided by someone who knew how. Minho had done his research.

_ “Do whatever it takes to keep him occupied,” _ Minho had instructed him. _ “I can’t be interrupted.” _

Chan could never tell him no.

Woojin was a little suspicious, what with how the internet had just cut out. Chan placated him, pointing out how it just meant they could work on the physical files free from distraction. A few minutes later, they were radioed, too, the security officer informing them that there had been a glitch in the system. Chan had managed to keep Woojin calm with conversation until this point, but that was clearly not going to be enough — the elder had just made to rise from his chair to investigate. Acting on instinct, Chan pushed him back down into it by his shoulders, keeping his hands on him to ensure he stayed seated.

“Channie, w-what are you doing?” Woojin stammered, eyes widening to three times their usual size at Chan’s sudden close proximity. 

Chan was no fool. He’d known for a while that Woojin was in love with him. Until now, he had tried to ignore it in the hope that it would go away, but in this situation it was the perfect weapon. Woojin would believe anything he told him if he faked it well enough.

“It was me, Woojinnie,” Chan lied. It had been Hyunjin hacking into the system, but he knew he could sell the story. “I switched off the cameras.”

“Why would you do that?” Woojin asked, clearly confused beyond belief. Why wouldn’t he be? Chan had never been anything but the perfect officer, at least not in his partner’s eyes, so this was completely out of character for the image Woojin had built up of his best friend.

Whatever it takes, Chan.

_ Whatever it takes. _

“Because I wanted to be alone with you,” he made up. This was straying into territory Chan hadn’t initially planned, but he knew he had to come up with something good to stop Woojin from going against his police officer’s instincts and checking out the issues with the security office. “I wanted to…  _ talk _ . _ ” _

He wet his lips and Woojin’s eyes followed the motion as they always did. Chan didn’t think he even realised how much he stared, how obvious it was. He used to feel bad about that. 

“We were already alone, Chan— everyone else has already gone home. It’s one in the morning, why do the cameras need to be off for us to talk?” his partner queried, shifting a little in his seat but failing to shrug Chan’s hands from his shoulders. He wasn’t really trying too hard, though; Chan could tell that he liked them there. 

“Don’t you know, Woojinnie?” Chan replied, pouting. He’d never used that nickname before; Woojin had always been the one to give  _ him _ nicknames, not vice versa, and it was obvious that the other had noticed this too, given the shocked look he received in response. “Can’t you tell what I want?”

Surely, Minho would be done soon. His phone would buzz in his back pocket and he could brush all of this off as a joke and excuse himself, escape the currently building storyline that ended with…  _ Well. _

It took no genius to tell where this was heading, but Woojin’s eyes were still wide and shining bright, confused. 

_ Pretty.  _

In another life, perhaps Chan would have liked him back. He always did love pretty things, and Woojin’s firm shoulders felt nice beneath his fingertips. In this one, however, he was completely ensnared by another with no hope of ever escaping. Not that he wished to, not in the slightest. By the time he realised that Minho had trapped him, he was already so far gone that he found himself happy in the knowledge, glad to be  _ his _ . 

“I really should go check up on the security, Channie,” Woojin gulped as Chan subtly crowded him a little closer against the back of his chair, inch by inch. “They’ll… Uh…”

“They’ll what, Woojinnie?” Chan asked, smirking and revelling at how Woojin’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. He was, in fact, enjoying this a little more than he should. The hold he had over the other was no joke. 

Woojin shook his head as if to clear it of errant thoughts, and made to stand up, this time more forcefully than his initial, half-hearted attempt. “Forget it, Channie, there’s no way you mean what I think you m- _ mmph _ !”

Chan, panicking at Woojin’s re-enthused efforts to leave their office, cut off his protests with a searing kiss that could leave no doubt as to his intentions. 

_ (To Woojin, at least, there would be no doubt, wrong though he may be). _

Chan’s true intentions were far more complex, but his partner need not be privy to that. He knew all Woojin would be able to focus on was the kiss he’d been yearning for for years as he gasped against Chan’s mouth weakly, resolve dying with a strangled sort of noise in his throat as he let Chan push him back into the chair without resistance.

Chan took control of the kiss, hand cupping Woojin’s chiselled jaw and pulling him closer still, aiming to muddle his brain so far that he would stop asking questions altogether. This strategy seemed to be working all too well, Chan watching as Woojin’s eyes fluttered shut. He was still quite a bit above him, given that he was standing whereas Woojin was in his office chair, so Chan had to lean down a fair amount. Woojin tilted his head upward needily, his actions wordlessly screaming for more, more,  _ more. _

Chan bit his lower lip, pulling it roughly between his teeth, and Woojin moaned deep in his throat, the sound humming between their mouths as his partner became more and more pliant by the second. He nipped at it again hard before letting go, eliciting another gasp that he didn’t let go to waste, tongue flicking past Woojin’s half open lips and into his mouth while yanking harshly at the older man’s hair. 

At this, Woojin  _ keened _ , hips moving not in an effort to vacate his chair but of their own accord, bucking against the air in a vain attempt at finding touch. Curious as to  _ just  _ how affected the other was, Chan bent down a little further. Distracting him by pulling his head to the side and biting at his neck, he made sure that Woojin didn’t see him moving a knee between his legs until he  _ felt  _ it as Chan dragged against him, bucking against the sudden friction. 

“A-Ah! Channie,  _ please _ ,” Woojin moaned brokenly, his lips swollen and glossy from the messiness of their kiss, his lower lip even bleeding a little. Chan moved his leg again and Woojin shamelessly ground up against his thigh, shyness gone in the face of mind-addling pleasure. 

He relished in how utterly wrecked he’d made the elder, a moaning, begging  _ mess _ beneath him despite the fact that they were both still fully clothed. 

There was no denying that Chan was getting off on the power he had over him; if he said he wasn’t straining against his trousers just as Woojin  _ clearly  _ was then it would be a lie. Reaching down, he ran one finger over the bulge beneath Woojin’s fly, making him desperately whimper, eyes flying open and looking up at Chan beseechingly. Wordlessly, he was begging for anything that Chan would give him. 

_ “Officer Kim, do you read me?” _

The pager on Woojin’s desk crackled to life, accompanied with the voice of the precinct’s security officer and even wrecked as he was, Woojin still went to reach for it.

“Not the time, sweetheart,” Chan chided him, batting his hand away and pressing the heel of one palm roughly against Woojin’s crotch. 

“Chan-n-nie  _ please _ , I don’t want to stop b-but,  _ ahh, _ t-this is our j-job I need t-” Woojin stumbled and stammered over his words as he tried to reason with the man still rubbing him over his trousers, said article of clothing growing tighter with every passing second.

“You don’t need to do anything, Woojinnie,” Chan replied reassuringly, kissing him again softly, ‘lovingly’. This he  _ knew _ would affect the elder just as much, if not more, than the bruising pace of their earlier kisses. “Just stay with me.”

Tugging Woojin’s belt open, Chan purposely pushed the chair slightly away from the desk, pager no longer within Woojin’s reach as he pulled down his zipper and cupped him through his underwear. Woojin’s hips bucked of their own volition, and Chan was surprised at just how _ much _ he felt in his hand.

“Damn, Woojin,” he marveled. “This is what you’ve been hiding from me all these years?”

Woojin flushed a deep red.

Chan decided that he definitely would have hooked up with him if he’d met him years before, somewhere like a college party. Woojin looked  _ hot _ like this, all needy and breathy and completely at his mercy. Even with his lack of emotional attraction to the man, Chan could still admire how pretty he looked all fucked-out.

Woojin seemed deliciously conflicted, fighting against his work ethic, his heady arousal and the revelation, or so he thought, that the love of his life was interested in him too. Even so, he reached once more, feebly, towards his pager as it crackled again with Security Officer Jung’s voice.

Chan couldn’t have that, so he took action.

_ “Officer Kim, do you copy?” _

Woojin did not, in fact, copy— though considerably distracted before, he was lost to the world the second Chan sunk to his knees. 

Already past coherency at this point, there were no words to describe the state Woojin reached as Chan mouthed at his erection, constrained as it still was by one final layer of clothing. Woojin didn’t even notice him one-handedly turning off the pager, head thrown back as Chan placed open mouthed kisses over the growing damp spot on his cotton briefs. Nor did he register him checking his phone when it buzzed in his back pocket. Especially not when Chan, after reading the new text, tugged Woojin’s underwear down and lapped his tongue over his slit.

**_Minho: my work is all done, angel_ **

**_Minho: but by all means, keep going_ **

**_Minho: you’re so pretty to watch, darling— finish him before we have to leave and i’ll make it worth your while when we get back_ **

Looking up, lips back to teasing Woojin with featherlight touches, Chan saw Minho leaning against the doorway, eyes hooded and gaze dark as he took in the scene. Silently, he gestured for Chan to continue. Obediently, Chan licked a hot stripe down Woojin’s throbbing shaft, hand braced against one of his muscular thighs to keep him still. 

There was no denying that he’d grown aroused from toying with Woojin but...

Knowing Minho was watching? 

_ Knowing that it pleased Minho to watch them like this? _

Chan was suddenly just as turned on as the man helpless beneath him, moaning with his lips still on his dick; the vibration of it made Woojin choke out another moan. Minho tapped at the watch on his wrist, smiling amusedly at the sight before him while holding unbreaking eye contact with Chan. 

Looking into his lover’s eyes from across the room, he preemptively covered Woojin’s mouth with one hand to muffle the scream he let out as Chan swallowed him down. 

Moisture brimming at the edges of his eyes as he choked a little, he persevered even so until he was deepthroating him completely, nose brushing against the neatly trimmed patch of hair above his cock. Chan’s jaw ached a little already, but he was determined to put on a show. 

After holding his position until he physically  _ had _ to pull off for a second, he drew back, mouth full of precome and saliva. Chan swallowed, licking his lips, still looking at Minho until Woojin reached down and wiped the beading tears from under his eyes with a calloused thumb. His hands felt so unbelievably different from Minho’s, roughened from their active job and so much larger. 

“You’re so pretty, Chan,” Woojin told him reverently, hand still resting on his face.

“You like how your partner looks sucking cock, Woojinnie?” Chan asked in response, disregarding the emotional depths of Woojin’s words. “You like my lips all red like this, do you?”

Sappy as Woojin was being, the dirty words affected him nonetheless, the hand resting on his desk chair clenching until his knuckles coloured white. Chan pressed a kiss to his tip, and his hand rose from Chan’s cheekbone to his hair. “Channie, you can’t just  _ say _ things like that!” he gasped, tugging a little at the strands between his fingers. 

Still far too gentle for Chan’s liking.

“Say things like what?..” he questioned innocently, spitting in his hand and beginning to jerk Woojin slowly as they talked. “Say things like how good your dick feels against my tongue, how I love when I choke on it?” he went on, biting his lip as he looked right into Woojin’s eyes. “How about how I want you to fuck my pretty mouth?”

Then, in a stroke of inspiration, Chan switched to Korean. They both spoke it fluently, Woojin more so than Chan as he’d moved over from South Korea in his early teens, but they never conversed in the language. Unless, that was, Woojin was blackout drunk and blanked on how to speak English. One of said times, his partner had mentioned in a rare occasion of oversharing that he had a  _ thing _ for using it in bed. Given that he’d passed out seconds later, Chan doubted he remembered letting that slip, so it would be even more of a surprise. 

“ _ Pull harder, hyung. I like it rough, _ ” he instructed him, and Woojin’s eyes blew black, gaze darkening beyond belief and hands obeying his words without thinking as Chan took him in once more, yanking painfully. Fortunately, that was just how Chan liked it.

He looked back up, arousal shooting through him as he saw how Minho was straining against his tight jeans, mouth hanging open slightly as he drank them in. Seeing Chan watching him, he nodded appreciatively and then mouthed, with a smirk tugging at his lips,  _ good boy. _

Chan choked around Woojin as he nearly came in his own pants. Minho  _ knew  _ what that did to him, the fucker.

The watch on Woojin’s wrist showed that they only had about ten more minutes before Hyunjin’s estimate for taking down the security cameras was over; Minho needed to be  _ far _ gone before they did so. He needed to speed this up, as much fun as he was having with the whole affair. Chan knew there was no hope of Minho leaving before he’d gotten all that he wanted, that now extending not just to stealing evidence but also to seeing Chan with a mouthful of another man’s come. His teeth deliberately grazed lightly against the underside of Woojin’s shaft as he swallowed around him, then he began bobbing his head up and down with more purpose. 

“A- _ ahh _ you feel so good, Channie,” Woojin praised him, tugging at his hair as instructed but still nowhere near as much as Minho did without question. “So beautiful for me,  _ fuck!” _

Still, Chan loved the praise nevertheless, despite the fact that none of Woojin’s constant encouragements could compare to Minho’s  _ good boy _ . 

Nothing and nobody could ever come close to Minho, as Chan had learned with an increasingly absolute certainty over the past few months. Woojin still had a great dick, though, so it was no chore for him to suck it; he’d even wager that it was slightly bigger than his own, and he was by no means undersized. He was quite proud of his ability to take it all.

Chan felt Woojin shuddering beneath him, his groaning growing louder and louder by the second. His hips were stuttering in their movements as he fucked Chan’s throat, not really meaning to but Chan no longer bothering to hold him down by his thighs as he liked the feeling. He let one hand still rest there though, not restraining but simply for the pleasure of feeling the muscles tense beneath his fingers with every movement of his tongue. After one  _ particularly _ vocal moan, Chan pulled back and held Woojin’s cock in one hand, aiming it at his own face. Minho loved it when he did this, so he imagined he’d enjoy watching it in motion almost just as much. 

In Korean once more, Chan spoke the three words that pushed Woojin over the edge.  _ “Come for me,” _ he instructed, letting his tongue loll expectantly out of his open mouth.

Woojin couldn’t help but obey. He did so so fast after Chan’s words, in fact, that he’d barely opened his mouth to catch his release by the time he was coming  _ hard _ , most of it spurting into Chan’s waiting mouth but also hitting his cheekbones and chin. Mouth so full that a combination of both Woojin’s come and his own drool was spilling a little from the edges, Chan watched Minho watch  _ him _ as he swallowed it all. 

Woojin didn’t notice, given that his eyes had just rolled back in his head from the force of his orgasm. Once his eyes blinked back into focus, he sat there for a moment simply gazing at Chan, understandably overwhelmed by all that had just happened. Even so, ever the gentleman, he made to reach for Chan’s own  _ problem _ . He batted the older man’s hands away.

“No need for that, Woojin,” he assured him, reaching his own hand down and re-adjusting himself through his trousers so it was slightly less uncomfortable. “This wasn’t about me.”

_ Nor you, _ he neglected to add.  _ This was all for Minho. _

“It can be, though,” Woojin tried to persuade him. Had it not been for the time limit, Chan would have let him. He was sure Minho wouldn’t have minded, and  _ he _ certainly wouldn’t have. Woojin probably looked great sucking cock. 

“Really, Woojin. I’m fine— I have to be somewhere now, anyway,” Chan told him, standing up.

“I didn’t even realise you liked me like that,” Woojin admitted softly, stars in his eyes and chest still heaving as he panted heavily. If he wasn’t sitting down, he looked like his legs would give way beneath him. He was shaking. 

“Like what?” Chan asked. He knew the answer.

“Like I like you, Channie.”

_ “I don’t.” _

The words hit Woojin like a slap, sobering in the worst possible way. Wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, Chan left. Woojin sat there numbly, back still facing the door and heart shattering. He didn’t see Chan grab another man’s hand and run away with him into the night.

The security cameras flickered back to life minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops sorry woojin love u rlly. Also, if anyone else leaves a comment about this 'being unrealistic' i will either cry or fight u. this is porn. it's not Meant to be
> 
> twt: @minbiins
> 
> cc: curiouscat.me/minbinnie

**Author's Note:**

> formality: do Not repost my work


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